Altered Fates
by No.13
Summary: After Bilbo confesses to having given the Arkenstone to Bard - what if, instead of sending him away to Gandalf, Thorin has him imprisoned in Erebor? Just how do events play out then? [Eventual Character Death!]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I most certainly don't own the franchise.**  
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**Warnings:** Angst for now. **  
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**AN:** A little what-if that resulted in being a sort of fix-it for the end of the novel. But only sort of (unless I rewrite the ending *cough*). Also, I'm more heading for the friendshippy sort of interaction, but feel free to put on your slash goggles! ^_^ Now, without further ado, to the fic!**  
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* * *

**Altered Fates**

**I  
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_They are at an impasse. Thorin refuses to give up treasure to help men while there is an army in front of Erebor's gates. Bard the Bowman unwilling to withdraw ere Laketown has received any sort of compensation. And the Elves requesting their share, too._

_All changes when a stranger steps forward and reveals the Arkenstone. _

_Thorin is upset, unsettled and furious at once. And it is with the calm of one bound for the gallows that Bilbo speaks up – and reveals that he was the one to hand the Arkenstone, the greatest treasure of Thorin's house, to the enemy. _

_For a moment it seems Thorin will indeed kill him for this. Then the stranger lowers his hood and Gandalf's familiar voice stops Thorin from flinging Bilbo from the wall. Instead Thorin casts the hobbit away, and the violent strength makes Bilbo fall over, his back and shoulder smarting where he hit the stone. _

"Take him away," thunders Thorin, "Out of my sight!"

Bilbo barely has a chance to gather his bearings before Dwalin grabs him by the arm and roughly pulls him to his feet. His head is ringing, and everybody is staring (at least that is what he feels like) – and he can't look at them, can't watch his _friends_ for the fear of seeing betrayal written all across their faces.

And his eyes aren't focusing, and then they are cast back into the stony darkness of Erebor's enormous halls. Their footsteps echo ominously – there's shouting outside (perhaps Gandalf? Certainly Thorin), though Bilbo fails to understand a word (maybe because he doesn't want to. Hearing Thorin call him traitor once is already more than his heart can bear; further words and he may shatter on the spot). Dwalin marches on, not caring if Bilbo finds his feet. He keeps his eyes down, and at some point the floor blurs.

* * *

He has probably passed out, because when he comes to again, he is in a small room - a cell - carved into the rock. The walls are bare, the ground hard and the only exit a sturdy door crafted from metal. It is dark - only a candle, already half gone, provides any light - and damp, and with a shiver he pulls his abused jacket tighter around his shoulders (there's little flesh on those bones to have cushioned his earlier fall. And his left shoulder hurts fiercely).

A gurgling draws his attention. In the dim light he spies a small gap between the back wall and the ground. With a grunt Bilbo pushes himself up on his knees and glances over, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes. Sparkling in the dim light is running water - a sidearm of the river, then.

But he isn't thirsty and his limbs ache too much to pull himself over, so Bilbo sinks back against the wall, and closes his eyes again. He would have blown out the candle, yet he has no means of lighting it again, so he lets it burn away.

He is alive. Considering Thorin's obsession with the Arkenstone that in itself is nothing short of a miracle. Yet all but Gandalf probably believe him a traitor - Thorin's fury had been neigh unbearable. Luck had been with him as he had not had to see disappointment written across the other dwarves' faces.

Maybe death would have been a kinder fate.

Bilbo swallows, trying in vain to erase the knot in his throat.

Maybe he should never have listened to Gandalf. Never have left his home - he could be sitting in armchair know, perhaps with a pastry and a good book. Instead he is here; locked away in a dungeon of the King under the Mountain, and the only future he can imagine is death.

His eyes burn uncomfortably behind closed eyelids.

Curse his Took blood, and whatever had made him go on this adventure. Curse his foolish heart; too, for it has caused him to make the dwarves' cause his own, to befriend his companions to the point where he is willing to risk his own life for theirs.

But in the end, as it turns out, he isn't cut out for these adventures. The war he has attempted to stop with his thievery may have been temporarily prevented - yet there is no peace, and danger looms. Still, Bilbo tells himself, no war means nobody dies (yet. Physically, too, because Thorin lost to the gold sickness preying on his soul is dead in a way that hurts Bilbo to think about).

And isn't that – seeing everybody alive at the end of the quest – all he has hoped to achieve in the end? (Maybe, but somewhere his heart has seen it fit to make it alive, and whole and happy, and this, this just isn't it. Reclaiming Erebor wasn't supposed to result in a war likely to kill the entire company – he does not want his adventure to end on burned earth and dead bodies).

There is a sharp ache in his heart, conjoined with a dizziness shadowing his mind. Breathing feels difficult, while he loses himself in fluttering memories - Thorin's disapproval at the outset if the journey, their understanding, harsh words, warm words, and maybe, maybe Thorin and his company would not have gotten this far without Bilbo (Thorin might have perished at the hands of Azog, the company may have been lost to the spiders of Mirkwood, or rotted away in the dungeons of Thranduil), yet this helps little.

No matter what fate Thorin will devise for him, he will never regret saving him. But is this the end it all has to come to? War and death and betrayal - such a terrible fate for such noble characters.

And he will be here in the dungeon, rotting away slowly - forgotten (and maybe for the better). Something wet trails down his cheek, but with nobody watching him, Bilbo does not have to admit to crying.

* * *

Bilbo must have dozed off, since the next time he opens his eyes somebody is knocking on the door.

"Mr. Baggins," calls Bofur, and knocks again. The sound echoes eerily in the stone chamber, and a part of Bilbo would rather close his eyes and withdraw into himself than face Bofur (who always had a friendly smile. But that was before).

"Yes," says Bilbo, and though he tries his best to avoid it, his voice sounds thin, close to breaking. He draws his knees to his body, wraps his arms around them and shivers miserably in the dim light. The candle isn't quite gone yet, but it won't be long.

Something is pushed back – the scratchy sound of old metal hinges moving – , and in the lower part of the door a small window opens - large enough for a familiar, gloved hand to push through a steaming bowl.

"Compliments of Bombur," says Bofur, but Bilbo's stomach twists at the smell. With a bitter swallow Bilbo recalls how little food they have in Erebor – and then he's overwhelmed at the implications of Bofur bringing him a share.

"Just so you know, we're with you," adds Bofur, aiming for jovial, though he can't exercise the heaviness filling the air, "I know why you did what you did, and the rest does, too."

Bilbo's insides twist further (he's nauseous, though he doesn't know whether it's from the food or something else. He hasn't eaten in a while, but with everything in him in knots, he just feels sick). For a moment he thinks he can't breathe (is Bofur telling the truth? Do the dwarves understand?) He remembers all too clearly shouting out warnings about a dragon's possible return while all his companions without exception were too enchanted by treasures and gold to listen. So maybe Bofur is only nice – Dwalin's grip when he'd dragged him away hadn't been …

And the last thing Bilbo wants to see is a division of the company.

"Thank you, but I can't eat right now - please take it for yourself of somebody who needs it more," he manages to say. Because the dwarves will need all their strength if it comes to battle - he, in his cell, will not need any (more so, should Thorin decide to have him executed. Regardless of Gandalf's wishes, Bilbo did betray Thorin, and the regular punishment in Erebor is likely dead. Not that he minds, now).

"Just try it," replies Bofur with forced cheer.

"Please take it away," says Bilbo and this time his voice hitches on the last word.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence a hand reaches in and withdraws the bowl. "If you say so. Anyway, we'll try to get some food to you later on - don't worry, once Thorin has calmed down, he's bound to see reason."

Bilbo presses his lips together. There is something resembling a sob stuck in his throat - Bofur had not seen the hatred in Thorin's eyes, has not realized just how deep his desire for the Arkenstone runs.

"We're with you, Bilbo," repeats Bofur when the hobbit remains silent, "All of us. Don't worry, this will work out."

Bofur's kind words do little to cure the heartache. Bilbo does not know how much time passes - no sunlight reaches the cell, and once his candle has burned out all vanishes into total darkness. He is left alone with the gurgling water, and sometimes the faint echo of footsteps from the outside world (one, that may well have disappeared, and one he neither desires nor expects to ever see again).

* * *

Sometimes he drifts off, but the cold will not vanish. He does not know if that is due to feeling so hollow and exhausted or comes from the cell's stone floor and walls.

At one point, he hears the small window being pushed open and shut again. When Bilbo opens his eyes, there is another candle flickering in the darkness and next to it a bundle of furs and blankets.

He does not reach for them then, but much later, when the cold and the darkness become unbearable, he stretches out his fingers and draws the fabrics close. And because there is a part of his soul still searching for comfort, he huddles into them, trying to regain warmth (at least for his body. It seems unlikely he'll ever know happiness again. Even if he lives to return to his home in the Shire, he doubts he will overcome this hurt).

The fur feels a little stiff under his fingers – not scratchy as Bofur's is, or soft like the ones Fili and Kili own (he doesn't even want to imagine how the two princes reacted to his betrayal. For the sake of their friendship he would have wished to spare them knowing how betrayal feels – and yet he brought it about with his own hands).

There is a faintly familiar scent clinging to the fur. One that – and Bilbo almost gasps in surprise – he last smelled before waking in this cell. At one point Dwalin must have worn this fur (and Bilbo wonders what this means. Does Dwalin know his fur was given to Bilbo? If not, will he be furious? (Like the trolls, Bilbo imagines Dwalin capable of tearing his limbs apart with his bare hands.))

Mostly, he tries to ignore the traitorous little voice that whispers _look, isn't the blanket red like Balin's tunic, and maybe Dwalin gave his fur to you. Maybe those two don't hate you._

But that, Bilbo thinks, is impossible.

* * *

Then – it probably is night – the door to his cells is thrown open abruptly.

Bilbo glances up warily, wondering if he is going to be executed (he won't mind), or what else fate has provided for him. Instead Kili stumbles inside, a cloak across his arm, bow and arrows on his back and a sword strapped to his side.

He glances around; then casts an imploring look at Bilbo.

"Mr. Baggins, come along," he whispers, "We're getting you out of here."

Bilbo blinks.

"It's all arranged – Bofur's waiting on the wall, and we'll drop you down, and then you go to Gandalf – they'll treat you alright, I hope," says Kili, "Come on!"

There's no air in Bilbo's lungs. _Madness_, a voice in the back of his mind whispers, while his heart feels like it's breaking all over again. (Shouldn't Kili hate him? Shouldn't he demand Bilbo's head together with his uncle?)

Abruptly Kili's eyes widen, he steps forward and crouches down, inspecting Bilbo's face closely. "Mr. Baggins, are you injured?"

Bilbo can't help but draw back a little, but he manages to shake his head. (He doesn't know what to think of the concern in Kili's eyes. The prince shouldn't be worried on his account, but there is no denying that Kili _is_).

"Then what are you waiting for?" Kili reaches out to pull Bilbo up, but the hobbit manages to cover Kili's hand with his own before that can happen.

"What about your uncle?" he asks, breathless (and he can't say Thorin's name just yet).

Kili shrugs. "What about him?"

"What if he finds out?" asks Bilbo.

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Baggins," says Kili, "He might be mad, but you know how he is."

Bilbo gapes at him – because Kili's nonchalance about this is either bravery or madness (he can't decide). And he can't imagine Thorin understanding this – this, which ultimately is treason. And for Kili to – for the King's own nephew –

This kingdom, Bilbo thinks, is already crumbling. For a split second he has the horrifying vision of Thorin ordering Kili's execution (treason is treason, but the image vanishes immediately. Even after all that has happened Bilbo doesn't believe Thorin to be so far lost to the gold to turn against his own kin).

Still, he can't risk it. This vision should never come true, least of all due to Bilbo himself.

Carefully, he detaches Kili's hand (warm between his clammy ones). "I appreciate what you're doing, Kili," says Bilbo eventually, and now his voice sounds calm and resolute, "But I'd rather stay and face my fate than steal away like a thief in the night."

He even manages a dry (humorless) chuckle. "I did what I did knowing what might happen – and I'm not going to run from the consequences."

Bilbo doesn't say that he doubts running away would do little more than ensure his physical survival. The wide-eyed look Kili is giving him already tugs painfully at his heartstrings.

"Mr. Baggins, no one will hold you responsible should you … disappear from this cell. One day even my uncle will understand this – but in the meantime, please believe me that we'd rather know you safe and whole with Gandalf than in this dark place," says Kili, and his fingers close around Bilbo's hand, so there's no way he misses the small shudder.

"Still, right now the situation is already complicated enough. Th - your uncle would not take well to my disappearance, and should I reappear in the enemy camp he will likely be even less inclined to agree to an alliance," explains Bilbo as lightly as he can, "Also, he'll guess I had help in escaping. Somehow I can't see any good come from my escape."

Kili sighs and Bilbo knows he has won.

"But thank you. It means more than you can imagine," he adds eventually.

"You really shouldn't be here," says Kili with a shake of his head, "At the very least you shouldn't be in a cell like this – " He trails off, then raises his head to look at Bilbo, "Anyway, if you change your mind, just let me or Bofur know."

And then Kili spontaneously draws him into a bone-crushing hug. Bilbo more than ever feels like doll (a plaything for fate and good-intentioned wizards perhaps), but after a moment he raises his hands to clap Kili's back reassuringly (because for some odd reason it feels as if Kili is just as lost as Bilbo is).

* * *

Time passes. Bilbo can't keep count, and he lets the candles burn down. Twice he has woken to find a new one burning next to the door, accompanied by food. At one point he manages to get down a quarter of the bowl (hunger has left him slightly dizzy), but then his stomach is in knots again.

Nobody speaks to him, and that is okay. His conscience is loud enough.

Until there's a shout on the other side of the door: "There's a message! Orcs and goblins are coming from the north! A whole army! Somebody get Thorin! We need to …"

Then, with the disappearing sound of hurried footsteps, the voice is gone, too, and Bilbo is alone in the dark again.

_tbc_

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_Please feel free to drop me a line. :)  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, this franchise does not belong to me.

**Thank you** for taking time to read and comment! While I usually just write what comes to my mind regardless of whether anybody wants to read it or not, feedback does make me write faster (or learn new, fascinating things about the english language). ^_^ So thank you very, very much!

**AN: **Another angsty chapter. The next one however will have violence, blood and character death.

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**Altered Fates**

**2**

Bilbo can't sleep. For once he is grateful for the candle's dim light, because in the thick silence his mind conjures up nightmares behind his eyelids. He sees his friends (at least, to him, they are and will forever remain friends, no matter what Thorin calls him) die – alternatively slaughtered by orcs in a blood-feast of cruelty, or dead at the hands of men for what is nothing more but pure stubbornness and a grudge that has festered, or starved among their treasures.

Hours pass, but nobody comes by. Bilbo dares to call out two or three times, but his voice fades out, and there is no answer, and he can only wonder (or fear) what is happening. Has there been a battle? Have the orcs and goblins been victorious, are all dead, and he will starve in this dark cell, the bare stonewall in the dim candle light the last thing he sees? Did the reinforcements arrive in time and the dwarves have won (if so, Bilbo expects to meet his fate sooner rather than later)?

Or did men and elves win (in which case he may well survive to see the Shire again, but the quest will ultimately have failed – if no dwarf is King under the Mountain, then the entire adventure – all the pains they endured – have been for naught). And even though Bilbo is currently considered an enemy by his companions, but somewhere their quest has become his own (and this, ironically, had led him to betray Thorin. He would laugh if the affair wasn't affecting such a disastrous outcome).

There is one scenario he dares not even think about, though it keeps sneaking up on him – whether Kili's and Bofur's attempt at sneaking him out has had any consequences. This is where he is almost absurdly grateful for any orcs looming on the horizon – even Thorin, lost to the gold sickness as he is, will likely postpone dealing with these conflicts until after all enemies on the outside have been vanquished.

Still, he can't hide from the horrible ideas in his mind, no matter how deeply he borrows into the furs.

From time to time he thinks he hears noises. Shouts, running, metal clashing – but perhaps he is imagining it. The only noises that is there is the gurgling of the water, and the pounding of his own heart. Another shudder runs down his spine – it is cold, even underneath the furs.

* * *

When there are footsteps in the distance, Bilbo perks up (he has no way of telling how much time has passed since that fateful, terrifying shout. The candle has flickered out at some point). Eventually they draw closer – a heavy, ceremonial gait (and there is the momentary image of cold steel against his neck, and then all will be finally over).

"Hello?" he calls out, and for once he doesn't mind if his voice sounds shaky.

Somebody clears their throat. Then Balin's familiar voice rings through the space. "Mr. Baggins… would you be interested in current developments?"

"Yes," replies Bilbo immediately, and then clears his throat, "I heard something about orcs and goblins?"

Balin sighs and the steps come closer, still. "I thought so."

Bilbo swallows, and bites his tongue to stop himself from demanding Balin tell him more. His fingers clench around the furs. There's a million scenarios his mind has conjured up, all realer than real in the cell's thick darkness (maybe out there everybody's dead, and Balin is the only one left, and it's just a matter of time until the orcs come and kill them, too).

"We were lucky to receive warning that a large host of goblins and orcs is headed here – they will probably arrive by nightfall tomorrow," says Balin and shifts on his feet, "Thus, we are currently negotiating a truce with Laketown and the Woodland Elves, as it is unlikely any party on their own would succeed against that enemy. However, negotiations have reached a bit of a dead end with Gandalf insisting on your immediate release."

Bilbo draws a shaky breath, and would have buried his face in his hands had his body not been far too tense to move. Just when did things go this wrong?

"Thorin is, as you can probably imagine, disinclined to agree," continues Balin softly (at least his voice does not suggest he blames Bilbo for this new complication), "Then again, other members of our company are far more amiable to this condition."

This is beyond bitter or cruel, Bilbo thinks, because when he gave the Arkenstone away all he wanted was to save his friends' lives. Now his action has become pivotal in what is building up to be a catastrophe unparalleled in recent history, and his presence (continued existence, hisses a darker voice) is making things worse.

Balin lowers his voice. "I have it on good authority that you have your own opinion on that matter?"

Bilbo's thoughts start racing, as does his heart. Is Balin aware of what Kili and Bofur tried to do? If so, who else is, and is Balin perhaps even suggesting he flee too, or is Bilbo's mind just going into overdrive here, and maybe it's the darkness that is making him see (and hear) things that don't even exist. There's cold sweat on his forehead, and he shudders before he finds his voice.

"That's … it's, I …," he stutters, before mumbling a despondent, "I … I don't know. I just don't want to make the situation worse."

Balin hums thoughtfully – Bilbo barely hears the noise over the thick iron door between them.

"Thorin would never forgive it if I disappeared," says Bilbo after he has somewhat collected himself, "It would only make him… suspect a member of the company. And I don't think that would be a good start for this kingdom at all… Then again, if those orcs and goblins are not defeated, there probably won't be a kingdom anymore. I don't know what the right decision is, I just…"

He chokes. The words he wants to say are I just want to be at home, I just want for this all to be over (whatever the end may be); I just want not to be here. Instead he presses his lips together, suppressing the sobs lodged in his throat, even if the lack of air makes him dizzy.

After a while Balin speaks up. "I believe you would be right on both accounts, Mr. Baggins. As there currently is no elegant solution to this dilemma, what would you prefer?"

His head is spinning. If they are to survive the army of orcs and goblins he needs to leave, but in doing so he may just doom his companions in the long run. (And while reason may suggest appealing to Thorin, in his heart Bilbo knows that as long as the King under the Mountain is possessed by the gold's curse there will be no reasoning with him – and unless Thorin deals with Bilbo's betrayal (whatever way) he will never be able to function as a capable ruler).

In the end, Bilbo takes a deep breath and prays to all deities he won't end up making things worse (again). "I wonder, could you perhaps tell Gandalf…to, to just not make my release a condition? I, well, I did what I did knowing the possible consequences, so please just tell him that … that I'll be alright, and I'd rather they just concentrate on defeating the orcs and trying to establish some sort of peace. That is all I want."

There is a long moment of silence, before Bilbo hears any sort of movement on the outside. "I shall try my best to relay your words," says Balin, sounding grave and sad at the same time, "You have a kind heart, Mr. Baggins, and I am sorry it is so ill appreciated right now."

It's not about being kind, Bilbo thinks, all he wants is for everybody to survive – for this mess to be over, so that they all can go back to swapping stories around a campfire, and being happy with each other. The scenario is as selfish as it's impossible, he realizes, so he'll settle for it all just to be over, and the battle won.

Whatever his own fate may end up being.

* * *

"Nightfall tomorrow" is a long time when left alone in a dark, clammy cell, Bilbo realizes. Far too much time to spend alone with one's own thoughts and regrets. Now, that the candle has gone out it makes little difference whether he closes his eyes or keeps them open (though, he finds after what may be hours, that staring sightlessly into the darkness tends to conjure up visions of blood and death, so in the end he keeps his eyes shut and wishes for sleep (or something even deeper).

He wonders if he will notice the battle when it happens. This cell seems rather out of the way – but for the warning shout he has not heard sounds outside lest somebody came to seek him out. Once again he thinks he will probably starve to death should the orcs win this, unless they find him, but with all the treasures Erebor holds Bilbo believes inspecting random prison cells will not be high on their to-do list.

Somehow, it appears, there is no good solution for this (oh, Thorin may see reason, negotiate a peace, pay the elves and the men, release Bilbo and then they'll all defeat the orcs together and everybody will be happy. But that is a fairytale ending, and if adventuring has taught Bilbo one thing than it is that fairytale endings don't just happen. Not that his own actions have helped much, so perhaps he should have just stayed at home).

He thinks of Bag End – returning to his warm hearth, his books and maps, tea doilies and brocade waistcoats – but it is a distant dream. There's a certain warmth that clings to the memory (sunshine warming the floorboards, the bright green of his garden, sitting outside on a warm summer day), and Bilbo almost feels a smile forming on his face.

The Shire now feels like another life – one that is now gone, leaving warm, golden memories in its wake. One that, Bilbo realizes in the darkness of the mountain, he will never return to.

* * *

Time passes, and perhaps Bilbo dozes off. But then, suddenly, voices are shouting outside, there's clattering, some uproar, and his heart jumps. Hurried footsteps approaching his cell, though not a call is given, and Bilbo has barely a moment to think, before the door is thrown open, the cell flooded with light, and Dwalin strides in, weapons and armor clattering in a shrill cacophony that is too loud after the long silence.

Bilbo blinks to adjust to the sudden light, try to calm his trembling heart at the same time, as something clatters to the floor before his feet. There's a wild expression on Dwalin's face, but before Bilbo can ask, the dwarf speaks.

"The battle has arrived," he says shortly, and Bilbo recognizes the familiar gleam of Sting on the cold stones, "And I will not see you rot here when no one can predict its outcome. Take your sword and escape, Mr. Baggins; chances are none of the others will live to notice your escape anyway."

And before Bilbo can say anything Dwalin whirls around on his feet and is gone. His footsteps echo for a long time – somewhere he has broken into a run, and Bilbo thinks he might be hearing screams and ringing metal, but that may well be his imagination.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, but at one point he reaches out and closes his fingers around the hilt of his sword. It is a familiar weight, the metal cool to the touch, and the open door beckons (out there will be a battlefield. Orcs, and goblins, and blood and death. And maybe all the others have already perished, maybe Bombur and Fili and Dwalin are already dead and gone, staring up at a night sky with sightless eyes and blood over their faces).

Bilbo swallows. He has no intention of fleeing his fate – Thorin may judge his deeds at a later point of time (if there is a later. Now, he thinks, he hears the battle clearly). But for what it is worth, he will not see his comrades die tonight. He does not want to be forgotten in this cell, to either slip away quietly or starve to death.

Whatever fate awaits, he will face it.

* * *

Bilbo tiptoes along the unfamiliar corridors of Erebor, until he recognizes the scenery. It is eerily empty, but he can hear the battle raging outside. Eventually he comes to a stop before the great entrance hall of the kingdom, and leans against a pillar.

His heart is racing already, but Sting's weight is a comfort. Unconsciously his hand reaches for the ring in his pocket – and for a moment Bilbo holds up the small golden item to look at it. It had seemed little more than a trinket when he'd found it – and then it had had such an impact on his fate. Saved him from Gollum, from the spiders and from the Elves.

One more time, please, Bilbo thinks and slips it on.

Immediately the world is bleached, the noise dimmed and his vision slightly blurry. Even though the hall is empty, Bilbo tiptoes to the outside. A cool draft caresses his cheeks and blows stray locks out of his eyes. His clothes stick to his back, covered in cold sweat.

The outside is no brighter than the inside of Erebor, though the surrounding hills and plain are dotted with glowing fires. Some large, some small, some more red, some slightly green – and for a moment to Bilbo, standing upon the high wall, it looks like candles adrift on a choppy sea. There's movement, but he can't see the individual fighters, can't make out the tide of the battle – only that it stretches out to the horizon, and in his heart Bilbo despairs.

A hobbit has no place in this, he thinks, and then he hears a familiar voice shouting.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Obviously not mine. :)

**Warnings: **Blood, violence and **character death!**

**AN:** Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I'm currently spending a lot of time hunched over academic books, and am always happy for a review to trickle in just to look at something nice for a minute. :) But now, on with the show!

* * *

**Altered Fates**

**III**

His eyes find Bofur. Hat askew he is swinging his axe, the movements smooth, powerful and deadly – the ground around him is littered with goblin corpses. But as calm as Bofur seems, Bilbo can't see any other dwarf (or man or elf) nearby. Bofur is a lonely island in a sea of enemies, and Bilbo's breath catches.

He is not made for battle. His swordsmanship has hardly improved since he tackled the Pale Orc's executioner.

But he is not going to stand by and watch Bofur die.

So Bilbo stops thinking, swings from the wall and jumps into the fray. He ducks under one blade, stumbles into a goblin – shoving it onto the blade of another – and if his heart is racing, it is lost under the roar of the battle. His world descends into a blur of rust-stained steel, flesh, earth and innards.

An elf horn sounds (somewhere far in the distance, yet all is dark and even the fires produce more obscuring smoke than light), but near Bilbo an orc screeches even louder. It raises a menacing war hammer above a fallen opponent (a small man? A dwarf? His face is hidden from Bilbo, but it doesn't matter – and on the chance it's a familiar face he doesn't even want to know), and Bilbo drives Sting through the orc's knee – and then has to jump back as the monster crumbles.

His heart is racing, and he almost stumbles about a flung-out arm (the hand is human, but he won't look for the face, not when the flesh is white and the ground underneath his feet is blood-soaked), then catches his breath – he needs to go further to the left, that was where he last saw Bofur.

Next to him a body hits the ground, an axe buried in its chest. Bilbo swallows, clutches Sting tighter in sweaty hands, ducks his head and stumbles forward. Invisibility is a blessing as he trudges through throngs of orcs and goblins (are they fighting among themselves, too?), then he gets pushed, and one particular close escape tears the fabric of the coat on his back.

His foot catches on something (he doesn't want to know what), he falls, and lands, his knee burying into something soft and fleshy. The odd squelching sound twists his stomach, and Bilbo pushes away in icy horror – yet a strange warmth on his knee lingers.

He doesn't look down, but he is swaying when he finds his feet again. Swaying and gasping, and finally, finally (this is madness, he should not be here, what was he thinking, how could he ever think he could actually help on a battlefield?) he sees Bofur.

And behind Bofur, directly in front of Bilbo, is particularly hideous orc raising a crossbow.

His minds blanks out – and with a roar Bilbo tackles the orc. They both go down, though Bilbo never realizes they hit the ground. The crossbow goes flying – there's surprised shouting in the background - and all Bilbo can think is _killkillkill_. He brings Sting down with all the rage boiling in his stomach, hacking away, until the beast stops moving (and even then his blood races on).

Bofur hasn't even noticed the danger he'd been in. The dwarf is still slaying orcs and goblins left and right, and Bilbo stumbles up to him, breathless, ducks under his guard and cuts off the sword arm of a goblin behind Bofur.

Blood splatters his face, the goblin howls, and Bilbo thinks this pain is no less than deserved (he'd gladly hack it to pieces), and there's momentary shift in the air – Bofur has seen the arm fly from the corner of his eye, the other goblins only saw the empty air turn vicious.

"Bofur, it's …" Bilbo gasps, before the dwarf glances over his shoulder, wide-eyed.

"Mr. Baggins? What are you…?" he shakes his head abruptly, "Get out!"

"Wha…?" A hum of air is all the warning Bilbo gets – he sees metal flashing, but he can't duck, because then he'll expose Bofur's side, and the blade's at the height of his throat, so Bilbo brings up Sting at the very last moment, and the metal meets metal with a loud ring.

The blow's deflected, the blade passes over his head, but his arms ache fiercely (and his knees are pudding), and the goblin's too close and raising his blade again – and then an axe takes its head off the shoulders. Bilbo feels Bofur's breath ghosting over his left ear and a hand grasps his shoulder (a little too tight, but then Bofur can't see Bilbo, and would never find him again should he let go).

"This way," hisses Bofur.

Bilbo stumbles after him – the grip will bruise, and he can hardly find his feet, but Bofur easily clears a path through the combatants, wielding his axe in one hand. The ground is strewn with dismembered bodies and limbs – though many are still fighting. Bofur ducks a mace and slices off a goblin's legs, pulling Bilbo after him.

One blade whistles through the air just past Bilbo's head, and suddenly Bofur is calling for Bifur.

Moments later the thick wall of orcs and goblins around them breaks to reveal Bifur, a blood-splattered Dwalin and a number of battle-ready dwarves Bilbo has never seen. They proceed to slaughter the orcs that remain, while Bifur claps Bofur's shoulder (that's relief on his expression as far as Bilbo can tell) and says something Bilbo can't even hear (much less understand).

His ears are ringing, and only when Bofur gives him a shake a notices Dwalin talking.

"… to Dain – his troops are just behind the hill, he'll be safe there."

Bilbo realizes they're talking about him, and his heart skips a beat.

"No," he shouts before he can think twice and pulls the ring off. Some dwarves jump in surprise, and even Dwalin blinks.

"I, I mean I'll go back later, anyway," says Bilbo (because no matter what happens on the battlefield he's still determined to accept whatever judgment Thorin bestows on him), "I just couldn't…"

"Nobody doubts your courage," interrupts Bofur abruptly, rougher than usual, "This just isn't a place for you. At least stay somewhere safe!"

"This isn't your fight," adds Dwalin gravely.

Bilbo blinks. He's not here for any political reasons – he's here for his friends, but Dwalin seems to know this, because there's no disdain on his face, only honest concern under all this grime. He opens his mouth to say something, and abruptly a mace smashes the head of the dwarf behind Bofur.

"Retreat!" a voice yells, while Bifur throws himself at the offending goblin with a mighty roar. Bofur wipes blood and a thicker substance from his face, as Dawlin glances around and Bilbo feels dizzy.

"Where are the others?" asks Dwalin.

Bofur shrugs, "Last I know Ori and Dori were with Dain, and Balin ought to be where Gandalf is."

(Gandalf's name caused Bilbo to shudder in relief. Gandalf may yet help them win this.)

"Thorin went north; I believe Fili and Kili are with him. Where the others are, I don't know," says Bofur.

Dwalin nods; another dwarf shouts "back! Back!" and Bifur dispatches the first goblin that breaks through their ranks without any effort. But others are pressing after it, Bilbo's heart drops – his knees are weak, his fingers tremble – and then Dwalin tosses himself into the fray with a mighty roar.

Bofur raises his axe, but turns back to Bilbo one last time. "Over the hill! Hurry! And make sure you remain unseen! Hurry!"

All Bilbo can do is nod, and then Bofur has turned his back, swings his axe and the roar of the battle envelopes him. A part of Bilbo wonders if this is the last he will see of them – back turned, weapons heroically raised – then a blade grazes his arm, he stumbles and ducks out of the way.

Numbly he makes his feet move – up the hill (though if it's the right hill, he doesn't know. It's dark, but for the glow of fires, and the smoke burns in his throat. There's less fighting here, but the dead are more numerous. Goblins, orcs, dwarves, men and elves. Some groan, some move, some miss their limbs and some have been torn up beyond recognition.

For a moment Bilbo thinks that this is far worse than the battle itself. Then an arrow whistles past his head and Bilbo hears something choke behind him, and a heavy body hits the ground. Bilbo blinks dumbfounded toward a small group of four elves (he isn't wearing the ring, he realizes, which is stupid, but he's alive and his heart is racing), then scrambles into their direction.

He's never seen any of them, but apparently they recognize him, for one (tall, fair-haired) crouches down and examines him critically. "Are you injured?"

Bilbo shakes his head, gasping for breath. "Very well," the leader says, "Stay with us."

The calm of this group is as reassuring as it is frightening to Bilbo. Not a hair seems out of place on the elven bowmens' heads, their armors gleaming in the firelight, while Bilbo is covered in mud and blood.

"Over there," says another elf, and the leader turns to glance over the battlefield.

It is sheer luck that Bilbo catches the indicated direction – there's another elf, this one fighting alone in a ring of orcs, his blond hair bright in the darkness. Bilbo is reminded of Thranduil, but he doubts the elven King would be in the thick of the battle.

Somehow Bilbo follows the elven group as they make their way across the field –and this time he doesn't even feel the wind of a missed blow caress his face. The elves tread lightly, yet the trail of blood and dead bodies is unmistakable. Where Bofur, and Bifur and Dwalin have thrown themselves at the enemy with a mighty roar, the elves wield their swords and bows easily, without discernible emotion.

It's all straight, clean kills, and Bilbo shivers.

They're close to their goal when a goblin sneaks up on the lonely elf (he's a very skilled fighter, deadly and elegant and everything Bilbo knows he'll never be) from behind. One of the elves from Bilbo's group yells out a "Prince Legolas!", but they're on the wrong side.

When Legolas turns to look at their group, the goblin behind him raises a battle axe, and Bilbo wants to scream out a warning. However before any sound leaves his lips, an arrow whistles through their and buries itself cleanly in the goblin's throat.

Bilbo, Legolas and the other elves glance upward.

On a rocky outcropping not too far from them stands a familiar form – barely more than a dark silhouette against the night sky – , and for a moment Bilbo think the elves freeze. Then Legolas inclines his head gratefully, and maybe it's Bilbo's overactive mind imagining things, but he believes Kili grins in return.

Next he knows the helpful archer has disappeared and Legolas is surrounded by the other elves, urging him to leave. All Bilbo catches is that Legolas is too important to fight on the front lines, to risk his life in this battle, and won't he rather return to Thranduil's side. (Prince Legolas, Bilbo recalls, so he may be related to Thranduil).

Yet all that is not important to Bilbo. Now that he has seen Kili he supposes Fili and Thorin may not be far. And while he knows he's not an effective fighter or able to do much in battle, for some reason he wants to be where they are.

So instead of retreating with the elves, he slips the ring on his finger once more and ducks back into the fray.

Bilbo is half-way up a hill, when he turns around. His sense of orientation is almost completely gone. He can't tell where Erebor's entrance is, lest where the different hosts are stationed – to his feet lies a plain that is a mass of flickering flames and gleaming steel.

The fighting is still going strong. Only on the fringes there are quieter patches – full of fire, blood and bodies.

He swallows, and somehow misses the orc behind him. It doesn't see Bilbo – but as it swings its blade down in the direction of a man (dressed in colors so dark Bilbo hadn't seen him), the blade catches Bilbo across the chest and his left arm.

He blinks in surprise – the area is numb, but when he raises his hand to touch the injury his fingers come away stained red. His heart is thundering in his chest – he barely manages to stumble out of the path of the fighting – and his left arm moves sluggishly, and for a moment he wonders if this is it.

Then he bites down on his lower lip, glances down and determines that this cut won't be fatal. It's not that deep – and the burn is low, subdued, inconsequential.

Bilbo grasps Sting tighter as a roar goes up overhead. He hears a familiar call, a rustle of feathers and wings, and gigantic shadows descend over the battlefield.

A scream goes up. "The Eagles! The Eagles have come!"

But all Bilbo sees down on the field are death and destruction, as the majestic birds forge tracks empty of living beings into the middle. There's cheering, down there and on the hillsides – victory is close, perhaps, but the next body that falls in front of Bilbo is an elf's, and the goblin wielding a hammer cackles madly.

It's probably a reflex that makes Bilbo drive Sting into its stomach.

Wielding the blade in one hand is cumbersome – he forces his tingling left hand to close around the hilt, jerks it back and grits his teeth. Without a second glance Bilbo steps over the goblin's cadaver – now he can hear fighting beyond the outcropping.

The rocks are slippery with blood and entrails. There's even a leg sticking out – in the darkness Bilbo can't tell if it's still attached to a body. His chest is heaving once he's up (maybe exertion, maybe excitement, maybe something else), but when he sees Thorin the world goes numb.

The skirmishes Bilbo has seen Thorin fight have not done the King under the Mountain justice. Where the elven prince seemed to be dancing, Thorin is steady, parrying blows instead of dodging, and Orcrist is a silver flash in the darkness. For a moment Bilbo forgets to breathe.

Fili has his back, but there's no need – Thorin calmly, decisively dispatches all enemies no matter from where they chose to approach him. Already there are circles cleared around both Thorin and Fili, littered with cadavers. The blond prince looks just as collected as his uncle does, though blood tricks down the side of his head.

It takes Bilbo longer to spot Kili. The young archer has his back to a large boulder, and is almost invisible in its shadow – his arrows, however, all are true.

Even if they're cut off from reinforcements, Bilbo thinks, it's going well. Neither of the three appears tired, not one stumbles or hesitates. Instead there's a deadly, beautiful precision to each strike, and Bilbo's heart is thundering in his chest.

Thorin takes off a goblin's head, an arrow dispatches an orc behind his back and Fili takes down two goblins in a whirl. Bilbo is frozen to the spot, even as one goblin brushes past him and sends him stumbling. Something sharp brushes his ankle, but Bilbo pulls himself up, and Sting cleanly detaches a second goblin from his right foot.

Its sharp howl is lost in the roar of battle, as it tumbles back down the rocks. Bilbo takes a sharp breath, and looks up to find Fili and Thorin have changed positions and Kili has left his cover.

They are actually advancing on the mass of orcs and goblins.

Bilbo senses a movement behind him. And this time, standing on higher ground, Sting takes off the orc's head, and sends his body tumbling down, taking two others along the way. His hands are numb around Sting's hilt, and he's long lost any idea of what he's actually feeling.

But for a minuscule moment there's hope in his heart.

Maybe they can win this.

Maybe there will be a good ending.

Maybe he this will, one day, nothing but a distant memory.

The Bilbo turns and there's a spear protruding from Kili's chest.

_tbc_

* * *

_Thank you very much for reading & please feel free to drop me a line! :-)  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Obviously not mine.

**Warnings: Major Character Death**, blood, violence and general angst.

**AN: **Thank you all for reading and reviewing! You guys are awesome! Also, the character I kill off in this fic are no quite congruent with those dying in the book. *cough*. AN over.

Thank you & enjoy!

* * *

**Altered Fates**

**4**

Bilbo's heart stops, but he can't scream, can't think, but _thisisn'ttruethisisn'ttruethis_ – and the arrow Kili was notching clatters to the ground. There's a roar Bilbo does not hear, the orc jerks back the sword, blood on Kili's lips and Fili sends the orc's head flying to the distance.

Fili collapses on the ground next to Kili, a scream on his lips and Bilbo is running – even though he doesn't feel his legs, only the distant burn of something grazing his left arm – but space stretches out endlessly, and he doesn't seem to be moving at all. Fili's sword is on the ground next to him, he is cradling his brother's limp body and his hands are red, red with Kili's blood, and more spills forth from Kili's lips.

Thorin arrives at their side, and the left side of his face is covered in blood, and he stands funny, but whatever injury he has suffered loses all importance as he watches his youngest nephew draw his shaky, gurgling dying breath.

There's another orc bearing down on them, but Bilbo's feet have carried him over, even though he never consciously decided to, and his heart is thundering too loud, and he rips the ring from his finger.

"Over here!" he yells (in a voice that is not his own. Bilbo Baggins does not sound this coldly furious, or imposing), as he pivots on his heel, and drives Sting into the orc's massive tight.

The orc stumbles, grunts and heeds his call; turns away from Thorin and Fili – the injury dealt by Sting hardly obstructing its movements. It towers over Bilbo (maybe this was a bad idea), and Sting is stuck, and a shadow falls over Bilbo's face.

Behind him he hears Fili sob, and Kili chokes on his own blood – wet coughs that cut clear through the roar of battle – and all Bilbo feels is a righteous fury, even as the orc brings down its mace. He dodges out in the very last second, and this time Sting comes loose – the orc howls, collapses down to its knees, blood spreading on the ground underneath.

Death, Bilbo thinks, is too merciful – but behind him Thorin shuts "No! Kili!" and he drives Sting into the orc's throat. He turns away before that thing has fallen; now that the field has cleared he can hurry over to Fili, Thorin and Kili.

The young prince's eyelids are fluttering. His tunic is soaked in blood, as is the earth beneath him. Fili's hands are red where they try to apply pressure. Thorin has kneeled on Kili's other side – and is, heart-breakingly gentle, brushing strands of hair out of Kili's rapidly paling face.

Bilbo stands behind him, speechless and silent.

"Don't speak," murmurs Fili in a choked voice, "Don't. Save your strength. We'll get you out of here, do you hear me? Just … just stay with me."

Thorin is silent, but his gestures say more than words ever could. "I am sorry," reads Bilbo in them, "I'm so sorry I brought this upon you."

Somewhere in the distance a roar goes up. The tide of the battle changes once again, elven horns calling to attack, while goblins howl in fear. It doesn't touch Bilbo at all. This battle, he realizes, was lost before it even begun – regardless of who will be proclaimed victorious eventually.

Then he notes one of Kili's hands twitching on the ground, almost hidden, and something makes him kneel down and grasp it between his own. Already, the prince's fingers are cooling, but Bilbo's grip is – if weakly – returned.

Kili's eyes find him, and Bilbo musters a faint smile (he can't help if it ends up being sad rather than soothing). He doesn't know what to say (or whether he has any right to say something at all. Perhaps his presence here already is an offence. Thorin's gaze falls heavily upon him, yet there is no heat to it, and the King under the Mountain elects to remain silent before refocusing his attention on his nephew).

Another elven horn sounds.

Fili looks up, eyes wide, terrified and desperate. "Couldn't the elves…"

Thorin's answer is a minuscule shake of his head. "No," and then, a few short, grave seconds later, "I'm sorry Kili. Please forgive me."

Kili's features have smoothened. The pained lines have disappeared, and he is even paler now. Icy foreboding runs down Bilbo's spine.

"Nothing … to forgive," murmurs Kili, coughs weakly, and there's fresh blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. It's dark, much darker than the blood running from Bilbo's cuts.

"Fili," says Kili and deep down Bilbo realizes what is happening, "Promise me you'll look after uncle and the others? Make sure nobody does anything stupid?"

There's a ghost of a smile playing on Kili's lips now. It's too much, and all Fili can do is nod and nod again as his throat is too constricted to speak the vow.

"Make sure they're all happy," adds Kili, and his voice his quieter, "And be happy yourself."

Fili is too horrified to cry, but Bilbo feels his eyes burning. Thorin is frozen in place, one hand resting on Kili's hair, the other clenched in a fist beside him. Bilbo feels Kili's hand press down on his one more time, than it relaxes.

When he looks at Kili's face again his eyes are closed.

The world around them seems to fall away. When Fili tugs Kili's body (still warm, but there's not heart beat any more, and there will never be again) close to his chest and collapses on himself, Bilbo lets Kili's hand slide from his own lax grip.

Next to him Thorin grasps Orcrist, rises to his feet and his eyes are dead.

There's goblins around them again, hacking and gaggling and fighting, but Bilbo is frozen where he sits helpless on his haunches, head bowed. He can't even think about what is happening; there's only the stark notion overwhelming his mind that he will never ever talk to Kili again.

This is final.

This is what makes people – regardless if dwarves, hobbits, men or elves – throw themselves in front of fatal blows meant for those they care about. He hadn't really understood it when he'd stepped between Thorin and the Pale Orc. But now he understands, and now it's also far too late.

Thorin raises his sword, and Bilbo only barely sees the deadly determination in his eyes. Thorin will not stop at anything now – now, that Kili is dead he will no longer seek to save his own life, not when a wall of goblins is standing before him. He'll gladly meet death if he finds it.

Bilbo however thinks of Fili – still bowed over his brother, and dead to the world – and his own fingers clench (he can understand Thorin. Was he but a mere hobbit he probably would join the suicidal charge, but he isn't and he can't quite forget about those still alive). And he probably owes it to Kili to try all he can to let no one else die.

But once again all he can do is feel helpless.

Then he spies the familiar shape of a bear advancing easily through the field, just underneath the plateau they're on.

"Beorn! Beorn!" Bilbo cries, waving his arms madly. He thinks the gigantic man has seen him, but then the ground cracks and the cliff gives away under his feet. Bilbo tumbles down, and the world goes dark.

* * *

He awakes to Bofur leaning over him, concern written all over his face.

Bilbo blinks and it takes a moment longer for sounds to return. His ears keep ringing, his stomach rolls and his muscles ache even before he attempts to move. However all this pales as his mind recalls the last things he remembers (perhaps it would have been kinder not to wake again).

"You're alright?" asks Bofur. There's a bloody scratch all over his forehead, but he seems stable on his feet and miraculously he has retained his hat. Bilbo wonders if he knows.

"Y, yes," his throat is raw and he barely manages to give an answer. Bofur's brow ceases in unveiled doubt, and he looks Bilbo over.

"That's a nasty cut," he says and points to the one running horizontally across Bilbo's chest and arm. It doesn't even hurt, so Bilbo merely shrugs, and Bofur continues his observation, "There's some on your legs as well – should have worn shoes, probably. But how's your head?"

Pounding and heavy and sitting up takes a lot of more effort than it should. Bilbo is all but ready to collapse again, tell Bofur to just come back later

"Okay," mumbles Bilbo even though it's probably the most transparent lie he has ever told.

Bofur lets him get away with it, helps him to his feet and together they slowly stumble towards Erebor's entrance. The sky is brightening in the east, heralding a clear, sunny day. The hills surrounding Erebor however are covered in cadavers; the dead and the dying.

Bilbo feels cold, and even the sight of dismembered bodies, severed heads, smashed torsos and pools of blood does not horrify him anymore. Death lingers yet over the battlefield, but it stopped being frightening when it took Kili (Bilbo always knew he was powerless, and maybe the events of their journey had made him carelessly optimistic – however, now he knew he was not meant for this, and the sooner his part in this tragedy found its conclusion, the better for all involved).

Sting's blade is black with or blood. Bilbo leaves it unsheathed – with all the filth attached, he doubts the elvish blade will fit its sheath. The ground is muddy, soft – and still warm in places. Bilbo is grateful for the layer of dirt sticking to his feet – at least he won't see the blood like this.

The camp, erected on the foothills or Erebor, is full of misery, and exhausted healers (or those healthy enough to provide comfort) hurrying from place to place. Few notice Bofur and his strange companion, though Bilbo believes he feels accusing stares boring in his back.

Eventually they come across Gandalf – and he breaks out into wide smile, even with his arm in a sling, and drops down before drawing Bilbo into a fierce embrace.

"Bilbo," mutters Gandalf, and Bilbo tentatively returns the hug. For the first time since his confession on the wall he feels little warmth blossom in his chest (this is not necessarily a good thing, since it makes everything hurt much more).

"You look terrible," Gandalf tells him after a moment. Then his eyes grow small. "Are you alright?"

Bilbo is not, at least his heart isn't. Too much happened – there's blood on his hands, and too many half-formed questions suffocating his mind. The sunlight burns his eyes, and all he wants is to curl up in a corner and succumb to exhaustion (and death. Maybe death, hovering over this field, will take him, too).

Instead he nods.

Gandalf frowns, but like Bofur, he lets it slide. There's no large, bleeding wounds on him Bilbo knows, and he's on his feet and walking, so he guesses he is okay, even if his shoulder burns.

"Very well, let's get you patched up a bit," says Gandalf, "You're being asked for. People were already wondering where you had disappeared to – especially since many did swear they had seen you fight. And I see that was no unfounded rumor."

There's a very tender expression on Gandalf's face, one that Bilbo does not want to decipher. Instead he hangs his head, nods, and silently endures a human healer cleaning his cuts and bandaging them. The healer advises him to keep an eye on two of the cuts – they may yet need medicine that is currently not available – and to change his bandages twice a day (if possible. Resources are more than scarce).

Then Bilbo's put on his feet again, Gandalf has disappeared and Bofur bites his lip.

"Thorin has asked for you," he says, and Bilbo's heart (which he thought too numb to react to anything anymore) drops out. Bofur casts an uneasy glance in his direction. "Kili, he …"

Bilbo takes a deep breath. "I know."

"Yes," says Bofur, looking away and Bilbo can see his eyes redden.

"The others?" asks Bilbo even though he dreads the answer.

Bofur doesn't attempt to smile. "Alive," he says, but for now that is enough.

* * *

The tent's royal furnishings do not banish the absolute desolation within. Kili is almost laid out in state, and his face has been cleaned as have his clothes. He looks peaceful – almost as if asleep (and Bilbo's heart clenches fiercely) – and the bruising on the side of his face is hidden under recently done braids. A fur blanket covers the gaping hole in his stomach (it was so fast, Bilbo remembers, too fast for Kili to realize he was dying, too fast for anybody to say goodbye).

Thorin sits in a chair, holding his nephew's hand between his own. He wounds have only seen rudimentary treatment, Bilbo can tell, and he wonders if he should really be here. (Fili is absent, and somehow Bilbo is relieved –he recalls the utter devastation on Fili's face on the battlefield, and silently wonders if the other prince will ever recover from this loss).

The curtain rustles as Bilbo steps inside (he wonders what right he has to be here. This is private, too private for one named traitor to bear witness to).

The noise draws Thorin's attention, and Bilbo freezes as Thorin's bloodshot eyes come to rest on him. Grieve has drawn deep lines into the dwarf's face, and his braids are partly undone. For a moment, the silence weighs heavily between them – there's the Arkenstone, Bilbo's imprisonment, Kili's death, and Bilbo's actions on the battlefield.

He doesn't know if Thorin hates him even more for all this.

Bilbo swallows, and then Thorin inclines his head. "Master Baggins," he says with a deep sigh, and exhaustion is thick in his voice, "You deserve a better apology than I can deliver – if, indeed, you would be willing to hear it."

Bilbo shakes his head. "No, no, I just…" he mutters.

"Would you sit with Kili and me?" asks Thorin, and gestures to a seat on the other side of Kili.

There is, Bilbo thinks in the back of his mind, certainly a deeper significance to Thorin's invitation than he can currently comprehend. He stumbles forward and drops into the seat, and for a moment the world keeps swaying and spinning. It must be exhaustion, and grief, and then Bilbo pulls himself together and reaches for Kili's other hand.

It's cold, but soft – testament to his youth. Bilbo doesn't want to think about this – about how Kili of all people should not have died – because if he does, he will crumble and he does not know if he'll ever be able to be whole again.

Instead he glances at Thorin, who in turn has his eyes fixed on Kili's too-white face.

"In the end you did have the right of it, Mr. Baggins," Thorin says, "And I would gift all of Erebor's treasures and the Arkenstone to Thranduil himself if it brought me back my nephew. But alas, it took his life for me to understand my foolishness."

Bilbo says nothing. Thorin may have forgiven him; but even that is of little concern when Kili lies dead before them.

They sit in silence for a long time, until eventually Bilbo swallows and asks the other question weighting heavily on his mind.

"Where is Fili?"

Bilbo has half-convinced himself that Fili can't be gravely injured – surely Thorin would be at his side, then; but Bilbo has to wonder why Fili is not at his brother's side.

"With the healers," replies Thorin flatly, but before Bilbo can panic he adds: "I have been assured he will be alright – for the time being, however, he remains unconscious."

Then Thorin takes a second glance at Bilbo. "Have you been to the healers?"

Bilbo shrugs a little. "Yes."

"Then why…" Thorin raises an eyebrow, and Bilbo is reminded of what a mess he must look with his bloodstained clothes, bandages and dirty feet.

Bilbo shakes his head. "It was a short visit."

He doesn't mention that prior to that he'd been lying unconscious on the field. It's not important – just like everything else that has happened between them.

Silence descends, and it is only broken a small eternity later when the curtain is pulled aside by one of the guards stationed outside.

"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood would like to pay his respects," announced the dwarf, and Bilbo recalls the elf that fought alone, and the arrow Kili fired.

Thorin's expression changes minimally. "As long as he has no other intentions let him come in."

Perhaps at another time Bilbo would have appreciated the disappearance of Thorin's grudge. Now he it seems just shallow.

Through the gap Bilbo actually sees a group of elves, but only Legolas enters. All that shows he ever participated in the battle is a superficial cut across his cheek. The rest of him is perfectly composed, not a hair out of place and not a stain on his tunic.

"King Thorin," says Legolas and bows, "I wish to convey my deepest condolences on the behalf of myself and my people," (he doesn't speak of Thranduil, Bilbo notes, though that hardly matters); "It is a grievous loss. And as I do owe my life to your late nephew, whatever service I may provide for you is yours."

Bilbo swallows.

Thorin inspects Legolas for a long time (and now he sits straight, and even the blood and dirt on his face do little to impact his kingly bearing). Then apparently Legolas passes muster, because Thorin nods his head. "Your offer is appreciated, though I would not know what service to ask of you."

Next thing Bilbo – who preferred being forgotten – feels Thorin gaze at him. "Though perhaps Master Baggins has an idea?"

It must be his Took side that makes him raise his head and meet first Thorin's, then Legolas' eyes. He clears his throat. "The healers are lacking materials and medicine. Perhaps…"

Legolas inclines his head. "I will see it done."

(They all ignore the momentary hesitation when Legolas looks to Thorin first. The prince may have not been present for the fallout concerning the Arkenstone, though he heard of it).

* * *

Eventually Thorin has to leave. No matter how grievous his loss is, he is King under the Mountain and matters need to be seen to. Bilbo hears that Bard has returned the Arkenstone, stating he wishes for no further bloodshed over it, is extending his condolences and wishes a speedy recovery to all else.

There's much to be done – reconstruction, negotiations, healing – and Bilbo dimly wonders if he wouldn't do all of them a favor if he packed up and got on the road. The image of the Shire beckons, though he guesses he is far too weak to actually make it there in his condition.

But what does it matter, he thinks as he collapses on a bedroll in a corner somewhere, the cut on his shoulder on fire, what does it matter if he doesn't wake up again?

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Not mine

**Warnings: **ANGST!

**AN:** Thank you all very, very much for reading and reviewing! You're awesome!

* * *

**Altered Fates**

**5**

There is no resplendent coronation.

Instead Thorin quietly takes charge of Erebor's affairs as if he'd never done anything else. There is some grumbling, but all that know the depth of his loss understand that fancy ceremonies bring no joy in times like this.

Bilbo contemplates leaving – but then a date for Kili's funeral is announced, and Gandalf suggests he stay for this and to recover. Because, according to Bofur, Bilbo looks like death warmed over, and that's putting it nicely.

He feels exhausted, though Bilbo doesn't know if this stems from the battle, grief or all the pressures mounting on him in the last fortnight (betrayal, death, and a dark, clammy cell). Maybe time and sunshine and the rolling hills of the Shire will cure him one day (but he doesn't believe it).

Thorin buries himself in work, overseeing each and every step of Erebor's reconstruction personally. It takes its toll, leaving him gaunt and pale, but there is determination in his eyes (because Erebor is not for himself, but for his kin and companions. And for their sakes he'll reach beyond himself to do the best). Fili withdraws, though the few times Bilbo sees him he appears composed.

It's a mask, Bilbo knows, but it's not one he feels he is privileged to see behind. Even if, sometimes at night he wonders how Fili is coping (and whether this really is what they left their homes for. More and more often Balin's words of "having carved a home for themselves" echo eerily – perhaps exile would have been the happier fate).

Bilbo does not voice his thoughts. With the weather inhospitable outside, he spends much time in the library. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, he keeps out of sight, because for some reason whenever Thorin glances at Bilbo there's anguish in his eyes.

And anyhow, he's much too exhausted to confront anybody.

* * *

The day before the funeral Bofur visits Bilbo in the room he has been given (it's the one luxury Bilbo indulged in – having a room to himself is mostly reserved for nobility, seeing as most chambers in Erebor need a thorough cleaning and reconstruction. Or maybe it's because he's a hobbit, an outsider, and nobody wants to share with him. Bilbo doesn't think about it long).

Bofur tries a smile and warm words, but it's obvious he, too, is still grieving. So he sets out various garments – for Bilbo to wear whenever he wants, and one particular set for the funeral. Bofur had been with the tailor, picking up his own clothes and had just taken Bilbo's along – and will he please try them on, since perhaps adjustment may be necessary?

The garment, Bilbo has to admit, looks good on him (how could it be different when the fabric alone was worth more than all the contents of Bag End together? And there are golden seams and little gemstones sewn into it), though it does little to hide how thin he has become.

"Splendid," said Bofur with a smile (a pale shadow of his usual smiles. It seemed Kili's death had sucked all energy from the company).

Bilbo manages to lift the corners of his mouth. He feels a little ridiculous, parading in those bejeweled garments and furs, with boots (a hobbit wearing any kind of foot wear is considered insane back in the Shire) on, and diamonds in his hair. He would have rejected the finery, had not Bofur kindly reminded him that Kili's funeral would be a state occasion (a sad first ceremony for the new kingdom of Erebor, but perhaps ironically fitting).

As much as Bilbo (and no one else) can't imagine Kili to care about what is worn at his funeral (because, to be honest, Bilbo can't even see Kili thinking about death in general. He had been young, maybe too young altogether), the new Master of Laketown will be there, as will be Bard with his dignitaries. Thranduil and Dain and their men. And Thorin is expected to stand straight and bear up in tragedy.

This is not a place to accommodate a hobbit his habits; no matter how deep his grieve is.

So Bilbo dons the unfamiliar fabrics, and lets Bofur bead diamonds in his hair (you'll be expected to join Thorin and Bard; you're too important in this to hide in the background, and you should look the part), until eventually the dwarf sits back.

"All done," he proclaims, "The look suits you."

The most striking thing about his reflection, Bilbo thinks, is how pale his face is underneath all the glitter.

* * *

The funeral is a stiff, stately affair. It is an honor to Kili, certainly, especially since even the elves seem grieved, yet it is completely unlike Kili who was so very vibrant and cheerful when alive. And a very black voice in Bilbo's mind suggests that maybe Kili's death was not so bad a fate.

Perhaps better than having all vibrancy sucked from him by tedious affairs of state, council meetings and diplomacy. Because, Bilbo thinks (and mayhaps this would be heresy for a dwarf, but alas), Kili always seemed the most at home outside, with his bow and arrows.

Especially, since to Bilbo it seems that the version of Fili standing next to Thorin in all his finery just shares the same face of the young dwarf that wrestled with his brother. Bilbo has little doubt Fili will make a good King under the Mountain in the future, but he wonders at what price (and if they wouldn't all have been happier in exile).

Next to Bilbo Gandalf sighs. The first part of the funeral is speeches. Men and elves go first – they may not have known Kili, but being a state affair they must speak. Many words pass Bilbo by without effect. He feels constantly cold now, but for his side where the cut just won't heal.

He isn't certain why – it is not infected, nor is there anything else wrong with it. It only doesn't heal, and Bilbo's left arm remains mainly useless.

Up front Thranduil rises to his feet and the respectful hush now carries an undercurrent of tension.

The King of the Greenwood has chosen his words wisely, commending courage and determination. He doesn't attempt to even include a notion of personal connection as one of the Laketown dignitaries (a man familiar with Laketown's former Master) did, and that seems fair.

And yet the entire funeral is such a stiff, suffocating affair that Bilbo all but wants to leave.

Kili would have hated it.

Bilbo has refrained from speaking. It's unusual, but unsurprising – a number of their company eventually decided not to. Gandalf however speaks (thankfully brief and to the point) and then Balin gets up. The white-haired dwarf obviously has some practice in delivering funeral speeches (another thing Bilbo does not want to think in depth about); his voice remains stable, even when Bilbo has to swallow against the sudden constriction in his throat.

There's sniffling among the dwarves. And Bilbo catches Dwalin subtly wiping at his eyes.

Once more Bilbo is struck at how little all the riches gained matter now. When Fili rises – as if carrying a heavy burden, yet with his head held high – Bilbo thinks the blond dwarf had always looked far happier on the road.

Winning back this home has not brought happiness to Fili.

Neither to Thorin. The King under the Mountain gives the last speech, and like Fili Bilbo feels as if he's a shadow of himself. He understands the need for facades – this is not an occasion for personal grieving, this is a political summit.

And it's utterly horrid.

Bilbo is happy when the procession gets to their feet. Kili's casket will be carried to the depth of the mountain; the crypt where all of the line of Durin have been laid to rest.

It is a long way down into the mountain, and a longer way up still. With all the formal rites observed, refreshments are offered and polite conversation only touches on Kili shortly before political affairs rise to the forefront again.

Bilbo sees Ori slip away first, followed by Dori. Nori catches his eye, and Bilbo sees understanding there.

He feels exhausted when yet another elf seeks him out. Being not a dwarf apparently makes him a designated conversational partner for any of the men and elves present. Normally he wouldn't mind, but some of the questions strike him as plain rude.

Hadn't he been the one to take the Arkenstone? How did that go over with Thorin? Would he be staying here now? What was a hobbit? How did he come to join the dwarves? Were hobbits related to dwarves?

The curiosity of some men especially grates, but Bilbo bravely keeps his smile until he feels like fainting. As he helps himself to water, he finds Thorin next to him. And when the dwarven King's eyes meet Bilbo's, they are warm and gentle (and so very, very different from the mask he have been wearing the entire day).

"Go and rest, Mr. Baggins," says Thorin, "Do not linger if you do not wish to."

And by the expression in his eyes Bilbo can tell that Thorin himself only wishes for this stiff occasion to be over. Then the King's attention is needed elsewhere and they part.

Bilbo casts a last look over the guests, before quietly slipping out into the corridor. His footsteps echo strangely – he is not used to wearing shoes, much less to the noises those with soles made from metal.

He ought to feel relieved. With Kili's funeral over he is free to return to the Shire. After so long the adventure is over. Tomorrow he can set out, and be home in his hobbit hole before winter is over. And then he'll see spring return to the Shire. The trees in bloom. The Spring Celebrations.

Then he catches sight of his own reflection in one of polished mirrors.

Even among his more adventurous Took ancestors and relatives probably no hobbit has ever stood in the first row at the funeral of a dwarven prince. Nor worn such fine garments – even in the dimmer light of the corridors the diamonds are sparkling and the gemstones in his hair are like little stars.

He looks like the dress-up doll of some princess or another, Bilbo thinks rather disparagingly, and his pathetic expression isn't really helping matters. When he shakes his head at his own foolishness, the world tilts abruptly and he has to steady himself against the wall.

Suddenly his head is pounding, and his ears feel as if stuffed with cotton. Still he tries to breathe in deeply and steady himself, but can't – his knees grow weak and Bilbo slumps to the floor. He is dizzy, and so very, very exhausted. And the smooth stone is cool, and maybe he'll just close his eyes for a few moments.

_tbc_

* * *

_Please feel free to drop me comment. :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Warnings: **Angst.

**AN: **You guys are awesome! I love your feedback and had a lot of fun writing this chapter (which is probably why it turned out longer than expected. There was supposed to be one more scene in here, but well... there's a bit more to go). Thank you very much for taking time to read, and now on with the story. :)

* * *

**Altered Fates**

**6**

When he comes to, he lies in the softest bed he has ever been in – it almost feels like floating. Low conversation carries, though he can't understand the words, until a flesh-shaped blur leans over him and calls out "he's awake!"

He's surrounded by familiar faces – Bofur, Fili, and he can hear Balin and Oin muttering in the background, and thinks he sees Dwalin lurk somewhere – all wearing expressions of grave concern.

"What happened?" inquires Bilbo and his voice comes out surprisingly soft and weak. He does feel quite exhausted and beleaguered, however he has been feeling this way for a while now – time, rest and some sunshine should eventually fix it (as far as he will ever be whole again. Grief has eaten a hole into his heart, one he isn't certain will ever heal).

Bofur sits down on the corner of his bed and pats Bilbo's shoulder. His usual carefree expression is lined – those last weeks have put a strain on them all. "Bifur found you out cold in the corridor. Brought you in, and the rest of us came as soon as we could."

Does that mean they left the funeral for his sake? Bilbo attempts to sit up, but Bofur gently pushes him back into his pillows.

"Rest for a little longer," he says.

"But the funeral…" protests Bilbo.

Fili sighs, and all eyes find him. His shoulders are slumped – he was standing straight during the ceremony –and his face is no longer a mask. Instead loss and grief are clearly visible. "The official part continues still and thus my uncle asks to be excused from your side for the time being, but I doubt any of us wants to go back there."

Bilbo nods slowly. Playing political charades in a time of grief is no comfort – and silently he wishes Thorin the strength to make it through the day, surrounded by sycophants, adversaries, unwilling allies and far too few honest friends.

"We were thinking of a more private ceremony tomorrow or later," continues Fili, "Only the company – so if you're up to it, you're more than welcome to join."

He manages a watery smile, before turning his concentration back to the books and maps laid out on Bilbo's desk (a pastime to fill the late hours when sleep wouldn't come and despair hung too close. Maps of the world and ancient tomes of history had provided a welcome distraction. For a while).

"I will be there," Bilbo promises solemnly.

"If your condition allows it," says Oin, clears his throat and steps forward authoritatively, "You neglected to mention several injuries to your person – all sword cuts. And while I believe those were initially treated, they were neglected afterwards. Is that correct, Mr. Baggins?"

Oin leans forward and tilts his hearing aid toward Bilbo. With a soft sigh, the hobbit inclines his head. "I forgot about it," he says (and it's not exactly true. He noticed a low burn along those cuts, but it had always appeared unimportant. Or at least less severe than the pressure on his heart).

"Well, luckily enough most have healed well enough on their own," says Oin, "Those could have very easily gotten infected." Then his face darkens. "However, one of the cuts is not healing as it should – and unless the physique of hobbit differs farer from that of a dwarf's than it appears, you are aware of that."

Bilbo swallows and becomes aware of current of tension filling the room. More or less subtly all eyes have come to focus on him (Bilbo does not look, but the expressions vary between fear for his well-being and soft reproach for his neglect).

Eventually he nods and Oin harrumphs. "As it is, I can't tell why said cut won't heal. Just…"

"Can't it be from … you know," says Bofur and gestures, "Everything? The battle, and" (he can't name it. Can't name what they're all thinking about) " – we're all down, and I think I've heard quite some tales how a person's mood could influence their recovery."

"Well, it is possible," admits Oin, "Let's hope that's the cause and not something worse. Anyhow, I'll be glad once Gandalf arrives – he really ought to have a look, Mr. Baggins."

"Where did Gandalf go?" asks Bilbo, and this time Bofur doesn't stop him from sitting up.

"Who knows where that wizard goes," sighs Oin while Bofur shrugs. Bilbo may pale a little here (it has never mattered before, not among the company when he was the lone hobbit among dwarves. But being a lone hobbit in a kingdom of dwarves is an even more lonely fate).

Fili spies his reaction. "He did promise to return soon, though."

Bilbo nods and leans back against the pillows. "I would hate to make the return journey on my own."

It's an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but instead the faces of his friends' fall further.

"You're in no condition to travel," proclaims Oin, "You wouldn't even get to Laketown like this."

Somewhere in the back of his mind Bilbo wonders. He's exhausted and has an injury that won't heal – but haven't they traveled far with their entire company in exactly said condition? How come he is so much worse off now? (But he also knows Oin speaks the truth).

"Also it's winter," adds Bofur, "Remember how difficult crossing the Misty Mountains was - and that was in summer. Imagine trying that when all's covered in a layer of ice and snow. Some of the snowdrifts may easily be taller than you."

Bilbo chuckles at the image.

Then the bed shifts a little as Fili sits down on the other side. Up close the young prince is pale, and the fine clothes can't quite hide how much weight he has lost. "I also think my uncle would be rather grieved should you leave so soon," he says and then looks a way, "He hasn't said it in so many words, but he regrets the pain he caused you, and by staying you'd give him the option to make amends."

Because, Bilbo realizes, Thorin can not apologize or make amends to Kili. The death of his nephew is something the King under the Mountain will never forgive himself for. And no matter how gruff Thorin is to everybody else, he does care for the members of the company (and he would have never been so upset at Bilbo's betrayal had he not honestly considered him a friend) – and he feels responsible for whatever they suffered on this quest.

Luxurious rooms, silk pillows and gem-studded garments are as much an ornament to showcase the company's standing as are those part of Thorin apologizing.

* * *

A few days later (when Bilbo is better, but not well enough to leave Erebor. And there still hasn't been time for a more private goodbye to Kili) Thorin knocks on the door to Bilbo's "study". His task, for the time being, is to help Balin and Ori to reorganize the library (he does love books, but beyond the weather outside it is foremost his body that prevents him from going outside and helping there).

"I would like to show you something, Mr. Baggins," says Thorin.

Bilbo glances up. He's tired and only wants to curl up in his bed. But there's a strange expression on the King's face – almost expectant, and afraid of being rejected. And curiosity wins over exhaustion.

"What is it?" he asks.

Thorin smiles (and when he does, grief and pressure become clearly visible on his face. His eyes are warm again, the way they sometimes were before gold fever took over, but also sad. Recovery, for him, came at a terrible price). "Please follow me, then."

Bilbo draws his fur coat (again, a present. This one tailored to his exact measurements and inlaid with patterns Bilbo has spied on Thorin's clothes as well) closer around his shoulders. The air in the stone halls of Erebor is fresh – drafty where repairs are ongoing, but the path Thorin takes is one Bilbo has not yet walked before.

"This is an old part of the Kingdom," explains Thorin, "Built exclusively for the use of the royal family. I was surprised to find this part undamaged – but then, perhaps even Smaug never noticed it."

Even though each step is torturous (and Bilbo's cut stings), he grows ever more curious. "What is it, then?"

For a short second Thorin's smile grows playful (and he looks so much younger when it does. It pains Bilbo's heart to think that had Thorin not carried this legacy, he could have been so happy). "You'll see."

Thorin leads Bilbo through many winding corridors, and up several flights of stairs. Before long Bilbo is far too out of breath to sustain any kind of conversation and too busy marveling at his surroundings. Disuse has covered delicate stone carvings under a layer of dust, and the paintings are difficult to make out in the dim light. But those mosaics, decorating floor and murals, inlaid with precious stone glitter even in the little light Thorin's lamp provides.

Even now the decadence and splendor of Erebor shines through. Thorin does not linger, though Bilbo sees him gaze at some places a bit longer than at others. And wonders how it must feel – seeing these corridors know, and comparing them to how they once were (at least this can be reconstructed. The people lost between then and now, however, are gone forever. And Kili did never even see this).

Then Thorin pushes open a large wooden door – and they enter a room flooded with light. Bilbo's breath catches. It's not a hall, but the room is wide and the ceiling high. Like many of the rooms in the royal apartments this is decorated by mosaics, frail gold works, but most stunning of all are the large windows reaching from floor to the ceiling and thus providing the room with natural sunlight.

Indeed, Bilbo realizes, it is sunny. The sky is clear and blue (and he doesn't remember when he last saw it like that). Involuntarily he approaches, for once forgetting about the riches of the room itself (it is, to be honest, mostly bare, but the mosaics on the walls sparkle as if they had been inlaid with real gold and rubies).

With a soft smile Thorin steps past Bilbo and unlocks one of the doors – it opens up to a small platform cut into the mountain and a breeze of fresh air fills the room. Fatigue and exhaustion vanish instantly (the air is cold, though).

Entranced, Bilbo steps outside. Sunlight tickles his skin (and it's an achingly familiar caress, one he didn't realize he has missed) and for a moment he remembers the Shire. Rolling green hills under a warm sun, and no care beyond annoying relatives, social obligations and the next meal. It's a distant, alien memory, one that is warm for how dear it is, yet growing colder the more Bilbo realizes that this state is forever past.

Before him here lies the breath-taking vista of Dale to his feet. The ground is far beneath them, and only few noises from the ongoing reconstruction survive. The desolate plain between Dale and the large Lake is crawling with activity – traders, workers, men, dwarves and elves. Beyond, the lake glitters as bright as Mirkwood appears dark. And as it is a clear day, the snow-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains appear in the far distance.

Home is beyond them.

"This is amazing," says Bilbo and for the first time tears his eyes from the vista to look at Thorin.

The King under the Mountain steps of to the banister next to Bilbo. "Centuries ago one of my ancestors married a noble lady from Moria. As much as she liked Erebor, she missed her home – so for her this was built, so that on a clear day she could go out and look at her home."

Then Thorin shrugs. "At least lore puts it that way. The truth may have been different; I wouldn't know."

"It is a beautiful tale," says Bilbo and shivers in the wind.

The silence lasts a little too long. Bilbo wonders many things – did that noble lady ever see her home again? Did she, like he is doing right now, stand here and gaze longingly at the far away (unreachable) familiar landscape?

(At least she could see her home from here, Bilbo thinks, but doesn't feel bitter).

"I apologize if I have been distant lately," Thorin says and glances away.

Bilbo is not surprised at the abrupt change of topic – Thorin may give brilliant speeches, but ordinary conversation sometimes seems beyond him.

"Had I noticed, it would not be a problem," Bilbo replies (and back in the Shire he would have gotten laughed at for the rather pompous style of speaking – another change brought on by this journey), "Honestly, I don't mind. I know there's a lot to do – even I get fairly busy at times, and I'm only helping in the library."

No, Bilbo is rather glad not to be wearing a crown. For the solitude of old books and documents provides the privacy necessary to grieve.

Thorin sighs. "I am glad to hear that. Though should you ever tire of our company, you would be a most welcome guest in either Laketown or Mirkwood. Both parties expressed concern for you …"

"But I'm a member of this company, am I not?" asks Bilbo in return, and belatedly realizes how poorly chose those words were. Thorin may have apologized, but he did cast Bilbo out (and neither of them did forget). He feels a little lightheaded then.

The King under the Mountain blanches and then, as if reading the thoughts running through Bilbo's mind, takes a step forward. "You are, truly, and I was a fool to ever think otherwise."

Bilbo swallows and watches as Thorin's expression opens a little more – and grief, guilt and regret become visible.

"I doubt I shall ever be able to apologize for what I did to you," says Thorin, "I shudder to think of the fate I had condemned you to – I can not apologize, but if there is anything you wish for, consider it yours."

There is, however, nothing Bilbo wants (because even the idea of being at Bad End with the adventure having never happened is not something Bilbo can honestly wish for). So he shrugs. "If you understand why I did what I did, there is no need for you to apologize."

Thorin swallows. "I understand it now, Mr. Baggins, I really do."

His voice is choked, and Bilbo looks away when Thorin's eyes grow red-rimmed. (His own would be doing the same, but the exhaustion is back and he is too tired to cry).

"I just wish," mutters Thorin and he may be speaking to himself as much as to Bilbo, "That it would have been me."

Instead of Kili – that is what remains unspoken. That was a prize too steep for understanding.

Bilbo uneasily glances at Thorin. "I … disagree," he says. His voice echoes, and the world is blurring in front of his eyes – probably because once again he is speaking his mind in a situation where it may not be wise.

Thorin watches him curiously.

"Everybody would be grieving you then," explains Bilbo, "So rather than saying you'd rather have died, why not wish for no death at all?"

(And a part of Bilbo's mind includes all other dwarves, elves and humans that have fallen in the battle).

"Indeed, yet I wonder. My nephew did see clear where my vision was obscured. Would you grieve me, Mr. Baggins?" asks Thorin.

"Of course I would," replies Bilbo without hesitation.

A sad smile plays around Thorin's lips. "And once again, you are far too kind."

Bilbo chuckles and his knees weaken. For a moment their silence turns companionable – what distance there may have been has been crossed, and while guilt lingers in Thorin's mind, he does understand Bilbo's reasoning now. And Bilbo understands Thorin's (though that had never been that difficult).

Then the world tilts sideways.

"Mr. Baggins!" calls Thorin, and in his tunneling vision Bilbo watches the dwarf reach for him. The world tilts, but Bilbo doesn't quite feel his knees give away. It's nothing more than a sudden loss of orientation – one where he can't move and the world is fading out.

His descent is halted as a strong hand first wraps around his wrist (such a pale and bony thing it had become) and then his shoulders are grabbed. Thorin is pale, panicky, saying something – words that don't reach Bilbo's ears.

The hobbit feels warm and comfortable.

"Bilbo!" Thorin calls (maybe he only hears it because it's new. He doesn't think Thorin ever called him by his first name before. It is … nice). The hands tighten their grip (somehow they're sitting on the floor. Bilbo doesn't really know how they got there, though it doesn't matter either) and one arm is wrapped around his back.

Bilbo can't really hold his head upright anymore, so he lets it tilt against Thorin's shoulder. Being held this way is wonderful, really. It makes him feel safe (and that whatever may come will okay).

So Bilbo closes his eyes and lets himself drift off.

* * *

Once again he wakes up in his own chambers. Only now he can tell that significantly more time has elapsed and the faces surrounding him look even graver.

Bilbo wonders if something else did happen.

"Bilbo," says a familiar voice (it's not a tone Bilbo can decipher, but he doesn't worry about that).

His face brightens. "Gandalf."

Indeed, the wizard sits on his left, on large bed rather than one of the chairs next to it. Bilbo's smile however is returned rather weakly. And neither of the others present (Bilbo spies Fili, Thorin, Bofur, Balin and Oin at least; though the room being rather softly lit he can't tell who else is there) appear happy.

In an unexpected gesture Gandalf reaches out and combs a number of stray locks from his forehead. Gandalf's hand is comfortably cool, and Bilbo becomes aware of not only feeling tired and exhausted, but also slightly too warm.

"Bilbo," mutters Gandalf again. (And Bilbo has heard this tone. It's heartbreak. But then, why should Gandalf sound like this? So he is probably mistaken), "I'm so sorry."

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Warnings: Character Death!**

**AN:** Thank you for reading so far! Your feedback has been awesome, and while this fic is drawing to a close, there's still at least an epilogue to come. Once more, thank you!**  
**

* * *

**Altered Fates**

**7**

"Gandalf?" Bilbo asks, and his voice comes out thin and fragile.

The wizard's hand remains on Bilbo's brow, and he looks about to cry. Bilbo has never seen such an expression on Gandalf's face (and now that he sees it, he realizes he never wanted to). Gandalf sighs and then looks down on Bilbo. Behind him, Balin looks similarly distraught and Bofur shifts uneasily.

He blinks to clear his vision, and pushes himself up against the giant pillows. "Gandalf?" Bilbo asks once again, "What happened?"

He remembers closing his eyes in the corridor. Maybe he has fallen asleep – but then, why is everybody looking at him like this? There is a small gasp somewhere in the back of the room, and for a moment Thorin averts his eyes.

When the King under the Mountain looks up again, Bilbo thinks he's never seen such heartbreak (and a very odd, icy notion forms in the depth of his stomach).

"Bilbo," repeats Gandalf, and then takes his hand. The grip is firm, yet some undecipherable emotion swings in Gandalf's voice, and suddenly Bilbo isn't certain if he wants to know the answer.

Gandalf sighs. "One of the cuts you sustained had been poisoned."

Bilbo blinks - the battle was days ago, and most of his injuries are healing (only one does not. Hadn't he wondered about it, somewhere in the back of his mind, before dismissing it?)

He swallows and tries to sit up, but Gandalf's hand stills his attempt.

"I'm so sorry," Gandalf mutters and before he looks away Bilbo thinks his eyes were watery. Silence hangs heavily in the air, and Bilbo suddenly realizes he already knows why.

Knows why there are tears in Gandalf's eyes, knows why Thorin looks as if the world was ending and Fili as if caught in a nightmare (and to him, it probably is). But instead of the cold dread, Bilbo feels warmth flood his chest.

He's not surprised.

So when Balin eventually says "I'm sorry, Mr. Baggins. We currently know of no cure for the poison", Bilbo merely nods (and there's almost a faint smile curling on his lips. Subconsciously, he thinks, he has known this for a while now).

"I see," says Bilbo evenly, and from the horrified look Gandalf gives him he realizes that it was the wrong thing to say. Fili has averted his eyes, but Thorin glares, torn between outrage at Bilbo's easy acceptance and despair at his inability to change what is becoming inevitable.

Bilbo's heart warms. (But his poor, poor friends. First to lose their youngest member on the battlefield, and now to watch another member of their company die. It may be strange, though Bilbo is more upset at his imminent fate on the behalf of his companions' than on his own. Because to him it's alright. He's fulfilled his part. And if he doesn't ever see Bag End with its rolling green hills again…

Well, that's a pity.

But it's not that bad.

Not really.)

"We have sent out messengers to Elrond, as well as all other known healers," declares Thorin, "And our healers here are reinvestigating the library. It is well possible for a cure to have been written down in one of the books."

Bilbo nods, and manages to thank him with a smile (not particularly happy, but then again, strangely, he is not surprised. Maybe he has known all along that he will not see Bag End again).

Thorin steps closer, and kneels down next to the bed. "Bilbo, I promise you will…"

But Bilbo holds up a hand, and shakes his head. "What care you can provide will be enough. I would not have any promises," then he glances at the assembled company (and indeed, with the exception of Kili, they are all there), "Just…"

(He knows he shouldn't say the words on his lips, honest as they are).

"Just… don't worry too much," says Bilbo, "It's alright."

(It's alright to die now, when the misunderstandings have been resolved – Bilbo may not say this out loud, but judging from their expressions, at least Balin and Gandalf understand. And the where the wizard looks as if he wanted to protest, Balin presses his lips together in silent, sad acceptance).

Fili comes closer, the grin false and his eyes red-rimmed, and puts a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "We'll get you back to the Shire in no time at all."

Desperation dances in his eyes, so Bilbo forces a tired smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

"That's if you wouldn't rather stay," injects Bofur, playfully, "I think you'd be more than welcome to stay."

Fatigue creeps up on Bilbo with surprising speed and force. He finds his eyelids fluttering as he tries to come up with a reply to Bofur that is not either a lie or a painful reminder of the fate his companions don't want to accept (The honest reply is that, yes, he will be staying. Likely forever, lest his body will be carted back to the Shire).

Balin takes note. "For the time being, Mr. Baggins will have to stay anyway. And I think we'll be doing him a favor if we leave him to rest."

* * *

He's in and out of consciousness the next days. There's people going in and out of his quarters, making certain he eats and drinks, but his sense of taste has somewhat abandoned him as of late. Once, during a longer stretch of clarity, he grows aware of Bofur at his bedside, while outside two unfamiliar voices keep shouting at each other.

Bilbo is not in any true discomfort – he's warm, and he stopped feeling hunger a while ago. The broth is usually welcome, though more solid food tends to sit badly with him. The cut still refuses to heal, and its burn is a constant companion. It is not painful, however.

And his friends keep visiting. A part of him is strangely upset at his inability to make decent conversation (though truly, he can rarely tell who exactly it is at his bedside). The child-like treatment of having somebody comb his hair, stroke his cheeks or hold his hand are welcome, and he tries to smile where the words won't come.

Only one night (it must be night, for Thorin is too busy during day time) the King stumbles in, and at first mumbles under his breath, caressing Bilbo's hand. Thorin seems upset, so Bilbo attempts to curl his own fingers around the larger hand – to return some comfort (he has been given ample, and Thorin appears to be in dire need).

Suddenly he's gripped by the shoulders and pulled into a fierce embrace. Fur fills his face, arms wind around his back and while the hold's too tight and he can't move at all, Bilbo just closes his eyes and leans in. Thorin in turn buries his face in the crook of Bilbo's neck.

They remain this way for a while, and Thorin shows no indication of relaxing his hold. His fingers will probably leave bruises (and it's another reminder of how thin he's become that Bilbo feels his own ribs under Thorin's fingers).

"Please, don't…" the King mutters. It's quiet and choked and Bilbo isn't entirely certain whether he was supposed to hear.

"Don't…"

And with whatever strength he has left Bilbo tries to return the embrace.

* * *

To the surprise of some and a revival of hope among others, Bilbo recovers slightly after that. Recovery meaning the constant dizziness abates and he is able to leave his rooms under his own power. His appetite however remains absent, and his face pale.

Walking is not an easy endeavor, and while he does not get far, it helps him clear his mind.

From Balin he learns that they had news from Rivendell – Lord Elrond himself expressing his regret at not knowing a cure, but having his best healers travel at their fastest speed. With winter having set in, it will still take them weeks.

There have been no other replies. And Bilbo doesn't actually wait for a miraculous cure anymore.

Bofur takes his improved condition with a wide smile and invites him on tour through Erebor – and when Bilbo's feet fail, Bifur carries him around without complaint. They spent two days enjoying themselves exploring the Kingdom, and though much is still under construction Bilbo can see the splendor it once held (and will retrieve in the near future).

And when they come upon the library Bilbo remembers another thing he'd like to do.

Ori is lovely company among old books and dusty parchments. With a pang of longing Bilbo thinks about his maps and books at home – there are few hobbits likely to appreciate them. He'd rather see them at Rivendell, though that will be difficult.

He can however ensure that none of his mother's silver or his beloved books end up with the Sackville-Baggins.

"Could you deliver a letter to the Shire?" Bilbo asks, holding out the folded envelope, "It's to my cousin, Drogo."

"Most certainly," says Bofur.

"Thank you," replies Bilbo, "Because I'd hate for Bag End to go to the Sackville-Baggins – though they may have gotten their hands on it already. But hopefully this way they'll not get any more of my things than they've already taken."

Bofur raises an eyebrow, and behind him Gandalf steps closer. "Dear Bilbo, aren't you being a little hasty?"

Bilbo shrugs. "Not really, I think. Anyway, I won't have a problem arranging myself with Drogo should I return."

He doesn't think he will, even though everyone around him insists. And Drogo wants a family, and Bilbo has always thought Bag End a perfect place to raise children. It's not a decision he will regret – and here Bilbo smiles to himself, since he does not actually regret joining Thorin's quest either.

* * *

Then the private wake for Kili is upon them. Gandalf worries whether Bilbo is up for it, but the hobbit is firm on his decision to participate.

"Are you sure?" asks Bofur when Bilbo opens the door.

"Yes," says Bilbo, "Will you help me?"

A sad smile appears on Bofur's face. "Always."

With a nod of acknowledgement Bilbo leads the other dwarf over to the dresser. He has already laid out everything - the beads, the gemstones and the brushes. The clothes he has already slipped on. The furs and silks are a far cry from the brocade waistcoat and dinner jacket he set out with, but as he's constantly cold now, the warm fabrics are welcome (if only they weren't so heavy that at times they felt smothering).

"I'd do it myself, but apparently braiding is among those things I am absolutely unskilled at," says Bilbo as he sits down (and it's far too heavy, considering he has only been on his feet for meager moments).

"You'd learn it to, in time," says Bofur and, after a moment, picks up a silver comb, "We're only better because we've had a lifetime of practice."

Only that Bilbo will not have the time to learn.

He doesn't know whether Bofur, like Thorin, clings onto the desperate hope of a miracle cure delivered from Rivendell or Gondor - but it is unlikely, for the pain in Bofur's expression mirrors that in Gandalf's.

And when Bofur works the metal through Bilbo's curls (still so short only a truly skilled craftsmen can braid them) it is with all the care and affection he has to give - almost reverent.

Once Bilbo would have felt awkward - now he has learned to accept these gestures. They are an expression of love and gratitude at the same time - love and gratitude to a person they all know will not be with them for much longer. So Bilbo accepts gestures and presents and hopes those are sufficient for a final goodbye.

He knows it won't be long now.

It's not a long way down to the crypts, yet he accepts Bofur's offer to carry him most of it. He won't ever walk this way again, he thinks. Though soon he may be carried down to rest here, too. As a lone hobbit buried among dwarves.

Shortly before they enter Bilbo asks to be set on his own feet again. The halls down here, close to the heart of the mountain, are cold and he shivers. Bofur offers his arm, Bilbo accepts and in silence they walk through the crypts.

The lights here are kept dimmed, yet the stone has its own radiant glow. They pass rows of stone sarcophagi - some kept simple (yet in their simplicity they possess a gravitas the more ornamented ones lack), others adorned by statues, gems or mosaics. With their footsteps echoing in the silence, they follow the line of Durin down to the latest grave.

(And once again Bilbo wonders if a grave under the blue sky would not have been more suited to Kili.)

Some of the company have already gathered. Oin and Gloin nod at Bilbo, as do Dori and Nori. Ori's smile is shaky, his eyes are red-rimmed.

Footsteps announce another group. Bifur and Bombur arrive together. Last to join are Dwalin, Balin, Fili and Thorin. All four look worn out - Fili perhaps most of all, and Bilbo feels his heart go out to him (the darkness of the mountain, the stress of reclaiming a kingdom can't be good when mourning a brother).

From then on, there's surprisingly little ceremony. Instead instruments are brought forward and tales are told. The tears that did not flow at the official wake do flow now, but they are intermixed with laughter.

It's painful and it's beautiful and the only thing Bilbo thinks is missing is the blue sky above.

* * *

To his own disappointment, he doesn't get to go outside again. Winter has set in completely, as he is told, and it is much too cold (and nobody dares to risk taking him outside. It's not said out loud, but his condition is worsening again, as even sitting up for long periods leaves him dizzy).

Most of the company stop by regularly, and Bilbo has become rather skilled at light conversation. At one point, Bard visits as well, and the grief in his eyes is honest when he tells Bilbo that "it has been the greatest honor to know you, and should there be anything I can do to you, I beg you to tell me".

Gandalf is a constant companion. It is pleasant, most of the time – Gandalf is a well of knowledge, and Bilbo's curiosity does not suffer from the poison the way his weakening body does. Then there are those silent moments when Gandalf's face falls and Bilbo only wishes he could banish the guilt he sees on the wizard's face.

It is never said, but they both know that Gandalf had every intention of seeing Bilbo back to his home. Which now will never happen. (And maybe Gandalf himself will never return to the Shire either, seeing as a certain green door will always remind him of his failure to protect a dear friend).

"This won't be easy on Thorin and Fili," Bilbo says softly.

Gandalf shakes his head. "Nor on any of the others."

"Kili's death already was such a terrible loss," continues Bilbo. Then he glances up, "Perhaps I shouldn't stay then. Set out to Rivendell and send message I got back to the Shire and am whole and healthy."

Gandalf's eyes widen. "My dear Bilbo, don't."

The wizard's hands find Bilbo's shoulders and pull him close. "Honorable as your intentions are, you would be found out. Also, don't you think your friends haven't realized yet?"

Bilbo swallows. He clearly recalls Balin's expression, Bofur's arms around him and Ori knows, too. As do Oin, Gloin and all the others -

"Thorin hopes," says Bilbo.

"Yes, he does," admits Gandalf with a sigh.

"And Fili probably too."

"What grief you can spare them, would only be temporary. And don't you think they'd be much more grieved once they find out the truth? And learn they did not even get a chance to say goodbye?" Gandalf's words make Bilbo shake his head with a heavy sigh.

He wishes he could spare his friends further grief.

But he knows he can't.

* * *

Balin, Bilbo comes to appreciate for his honesty. Of all his companions Balin is the one to breech more direct matters – hobbit funeral customs, any wishes – anything at all (because right now there is nothing Thorin would not do if it just made Bilbo smile).

The only faces Bilbo rarely sees are Thorin, Fili and Dwalin. They must be busy overseeing the reconstruction. And if they eschew his company since grief for Kili is still too fresh, and Bilbo's condition is only a reminder of what they have already lost, he understands that too.

When Fili stops by, the prince is pale and his cheerful grin seems a memory from another time. From the depth of his heart Bilbo wishes for him to recover. It won't be easy – but he already sees that Fili will be a good, competent King. If only he could be a happy one, as well.

Dwalin remains sparse, and Bilbo wonders a little. Until one day Balin makes his brother carry Bilbo back to his chambers. The large dwarf's hands are unendingly gentle and careful – as if to apologize for how roughly he had gripped Bilbo once, up on the wall one Thorin's orders.

Perhaps Dwalin has no words to express his feelings, but his hold tells Bilbo all he needs to know (of just how terrified Dwalin is of losing his companions, how much he still grieves for Fili and how he hates to see another one go), so Bilbo merely closes his eyes to signal that whatever may have been between them, all has been forgiven.

When Thorin visits, once again during the late hours of the evening, there is devastation on his face when he asks: "Is there anything I can do?"

"Maybe some fresh air and sunshine," Bilbo answers after a moment and smiles softly.

* * *

The next day he is wrapped in furs and blankets, all embedded with gemstones and finely-crafted metal work, and Thorin himself carries him outside. It's a cold day, with a biting wind, but it's clear and the sky is a bright, cloudless blue.

At their feet, men and dwarves are busy rebuilding Dale in its former glory. Beyond shimmers the lake like a giant turquois diamond, framed by the dark green of Mirkwood. And in the far distance Bilbo spies the snow-covered caps of the Misty Mountains.

Beyond them, he thinks, is home. The Shire with its soft hills – not long, until the trees bloom again, and there will be the May Celebrations, and the sun will be warm and gentle.

But he won't be there to see it.

"It's beautiful," says Bilbo quietly, "Thank you."

Thorin holds him closer. (If there's anything he wants to say, his throat is too choked to form words).

"I mean it," Bilbo continues softly, "Erebor's beautiful. I'm glad you got your home back. I'm happy I could help."

A tremor runs through the King's body, and Bilbo manages to weakly pat one of the arms wrapped around his chest.

"And just … whatever happens, I just want you to be happy, too," Bilbo glances out over the glittering lake, "You, and Fili, and all the others – it's probably going to take some time, but I'd really like that."

And Bilbo turns to Thorin and carefully manages to rest one of his hands against the King's cheek. Thorin's eyes widen.

"Because I have been very happy," says Bilbo, "Our adventure wasn't easy, but I've never regretted leaving Bag End – and I don't think I've ever been happier than I've been with the company and you."

* * *

That evening, Bilbo falls asleep with a smile on his face.

He does not wake the next morning.

_tbc_

* * *

_So, there it is. The story is done – only the epilogue remains. Anyhow, please feel free to drop me a line. ;-)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warnings: **Uhm, some sap, angst. Character death has already happened.

**AN:** A very big thank you to everyone who reviewed. The story was a pleasure to write, and you made it so much better (and also more detailled. The outline for this was three chapters. ;-) Thank you very much and I hope you enjoyed reading!

* * *

**Altered Fates**

**8**

For the last weeks – even before Bilbo's dire prospects had become known – Thorin's first act in the morning has been to look in on the hobbit. The King sleeps uneasily; at night he relives the battle, sees Kili fall once again.

Sometimes, his mind shows him how Fili could have died, too. Thorin is always too far away, helpless to do anything but watch. Bilbo dies, too, within the nightmares – run through by Azog, trampled by wargs or – and these are the visions that leave Thorin trembling, afraid to close his eyes again – dead by his own hand.

The moment when, instead of shoving Bilbo down on the wall, he lets go of the hobbit as his feet dangle high over the ground. And dream-Thorin only watches in dark satisfaction as Bilbo's body shatters on the ground.

Guilt and terror wrangle in his chest upon waking.

Tonight, however, was not bad. Whatever he dreamt, only blurred fragments of spilled blood and the din of battle remain. Still, dread coils in Thorin's stomach as he goes through his ablutions, dons his robes and crown. His nightshirt, again, is drenched in sweat. He wonders how Fili fares – he has spent too little time with his nephew; time that is all the more important since Kili is gone. Fili is holding up, but Thorin can't help but worry.

As he does for Bilbo. The hobbit's condition has been steadily worsening, and he knows that Balin doubts he will last much longer. Thorin hopes for good news from Rivendell – the messengers should arrive any day now. Because –

There's an unusual din in the corridor. The healers are constantly present, but today there's a strange gravitas to their actions. Though without urgency. Thorin's heart skips a beat. The healers catch sight of him, and abruptly the corridor falls silent.

Thorin's blood turns to ice.

The head healer steps forward, and bows low. Thorin holds his breath – this, he thinks, won't be good news.

"Your Highness," he says, his voice steady, yet oddly expressionless, "Master Baggins passed on last night."

For a moment Thorin doesn't think he heard correctly. His ears are ringing, and the ground seems to have vanished. He wants to ask the healer to repeat his words, but his tongue refuses to work, so he just stands there, staring ahead.

The words echo in his mind, even though they make no sense.

Just last night he talked to Bilbo, and the hobbit hadn't appeared … no, it had been long since Bilbo had truly looked well, but yesterday he hadn't seemed close to death. Thorin's head is spinning – how can this be true?

How can he not have noticed?

How can he have allowed Bilbo to pass so quietly – without a word, without company…

"Through here," the healer softly indicates.

When Thorin steps through the door, the room falls silent. The healers hurry to pack up, grant him privacy – though Thorin doesn't even notice them. His world tunnels in on the bed, and the small body resting on top of it.

Bilbo looks as if he was asleep. Like he was on so many mornings Thorin stopped to check. But today even the shallow breaths are gone, replaced by eerie stillness.

Thorin's knees tremble as he steps closer. He almost doesn't dare to (because maybe it's all a lie, an illusion, and Bilbo isn't really dead) – because his foolish heart doesn't want to believe this. Doesn't think he'll be able to live, if Bilbo, too, dies.

(Kili's death is too recent, too fresh. Thorin isn't sure if he can survive another loss – if there will be any part of his heart left, after this).

But he owes it to Bilbo to face the situation.

So he sinks down on the bed. The sheer size of it makes Bilbo appear even smaller on it (even farther from home. Thorin blinks against a sudden pressure behind his eyes when he thinks how lonely it must be to die so far from home. And he knows how Bilbo's heart had clung to Bad End - fate has treated him cruelly in the end.

And Thorin had a share in that, too).

However, Bilbo's expression is peaceful. The poison and his weakened body have left him pale and thin, but Thorin can't see any traces of pain on the hobbit's face. It's a meager comfort when he realizes that he won't ever see any joy on Bilbo's face, either.

Nor that lively sparkle that had always filled his eyes. Hadn't it been just last night that Bilbo and Thorin had talked? That Bilbo had smiled at him?

How can that be gone forever, now?

Thorin presses his lips together. He is no stranger to loss; he has duties to perform – he will have to grieve in private. For now, he reaches out and takes Bilbo's limb hand. (One last time, a voice in his head whispers, one last time, and then never again).

The skin is soft. Their adventure had not been long enough to bring calluses on his hands – Bilbo may have grown experienced, but even in face of mortal danger, a dragon or Thorin's gold sickness his heart had held fast. Bilbo's kindness remained unchanged until the end.

Thorin merely wishes he could have repaid him better.

The hand between his is cool – the warmth of the living has fled Bilbo's body already. Though the healers have worked their magic, and the body hasn't stiffened yet. Most of it is hidden under the thick blankets, adding to the illusion of Bilbo being "just asleep".

Thorin would give the Arkenstone and all the riches of Erebor to make it so.

But there's no undoing this. No magic can recall the dead, just as no actions could ever undo the words Thorin had hurled at Bilbo in his madness. Time doesn't heal these either, Thorin knows from bitter experience. Time merely piles up new grievances atop of old once, or, if fate is kind, provides a happy distraction.

Thorin remembers claiming no responsibility for Bilbo's fate, back in that welcoming hobbit home. Then came the journey with all its tribulations, and at the end, the gold sickness. And looking back, Thorin knows his actions have embroiled Bilbo in the battle that dealt him the poisoned cut.

He wishes he had outright apologized for his behavior then. For having Bilbo locked up, for threatening him with death – but when the battle had reunited them, with Kili dead between them, it all seemed so paltry, so unimportant.

Now that Bilbo is gone, Thorin finds a thousand words he never got to say.

There's a short knock, then Fili stumbles in before Thorin can even respond. The prince is pale (he always is, recently, but not as stark white as now), his eyes are wide, and his gait is unsteady.

"Tho, - uncle, I …" He clears his throat. His eyes wander between Bilbo and Thorin – already pleading for this to be untrue, "I heard…"

Fili's voice catches and he can't speak further. Thorin inclines his head. "Yes," he answers the unvoiced question.

Fili has to steady himself on a chair. A soft "no" escapes him, and Thorin wonders if he is going to faint. But Fili takes a shaky breath, draws himself up, and crosses the room in four long steps. Fearfully, he sinks down on the other side of Bilbo's bed, gaze fixed on the still form.

"Bilbo," he softly whispers. And maybe he forgets about Thorin's presence, or maybe he just doesn't care – he reaches out, and gently runs a hand through the hobbit's blond locks, "Oh no."

* * *

Gandalf eventually shows up and shoos both Thorin and Fili out. They have duties to attend to, or at least meals to eat – and Bilbo wouldn't want them to forsake their responsibilities on his account, as the wizard gently reminds them.

The King and his heir move like ghosts when they leave. And once the door shuts behind them, Gandalf sighs and his shoulders slump. Wearily, he sits down and reaches out to caress Bilbo's face.

"This wasn't my intention," he thinks out loud, "This wasn't mean to happen."

His heart clenches painfully, as he observes the calm expression on Bilbo's face. He's not smiling, but there's no pain on his features – and the healers mentioned that he must have passed in his sleep. As things go, Gandalf has seen much worse deaths.

Yet, maybe this is worse, because he feels responsible. He drew Bilbo into this, tempted him with promises of adventure – only to watch Bilbo die, once it was over.

Now, all he can do is lean over and plant a tender kiss on Bilbo's cool forehead.

"Forgive me," he whispers.

* * *

That day, all of the original company conclude their daily business earlier than usual. In the late afternoon, they gather in the royal quarters, and Thorin sees grief in all their eyes.

(It is strange to feel this heavy, when all around the new arrivals at Erebor are bustling with energy and happiness for the reclaimed kingdom. Their happiness is what keeps Thorin from utterly regretting his actions. As a King, he has a responsibility to his people – but as a man, and an uncle he thinks all the riches of Erebor weren't worth Kili's and Bilbo's lives).

"I suppose we will need to make arrangements," Balin tentatively begins, and turns to Gandalf, "It may take a while, but we can see to it that Master Baggins is laid to rest in the Shire."

Gandalf hums under his breath. Thorin thinks of the rich greenery, the golden fields and the rolling hills – the place that is Bilbo's home, the place he ought to have returned to.

However, Gandalf frowns. "That is well-intended, though, I believe, not strictly necessary. I'm afraid Bilbo may have made himself somewhat unpopular with the general populace there due to his sudden departure."

The thought to have Bilbo laid to rest at a place where nobody cares about him makes Thorin's blood run cold. "He'll be laid to rest in Erebor, then. In the royal crypts."

Nori raises an eyebrow, and Bofur's eyes widen in surprise (and they shouldn't look like this. They, too, will be laid to rest with the highest of honors once their time comes). But it's the right decision, Thorin's heart tells him.

Gandalf nods. "I think that'll be alright."

What he doesn't say – what nobody ever said out loud – is that this quest has tied them all together. And that, to Bilbo who never had particularly close relatives, these dwarves had become a family.

"What of his relatives?" Fili asks, "Does he have any close family or friends?"

Because they will need to say their goodbyes. Thorin must take responsibility for Bilbo's death so far from home already; he will not deny any final partings.

Gandalf sighs deeply. "Bilbo didn't have any immediate family. A lot of cousins, but from what I know only very few he was close to."

"Then we'll wait for them to get here," Fili says, determined.

Thorin senses Gandalf's protest before the wizard speaks. "I'm afraid that won't work. Hobbits dislike traveling – especially as far as Erebor," he says, "I don't think there will be any visitors from the Shire".

Thorin's heart clenches painfully.

"But they need to be told, at the very least," says Ori whose eyes are red-rimmed.

"They will be," replies Gandalf.

"His belongings?" Nori asks.

Gandalf sighs sadly. "Bilbo sent word to his relatives in the Shire, I believe. Once the roads are open I will travel there to see whether it arrived and has been put into action".

"And you really don't think any of them would want to come?" Bofur asks – the notion that family, even extended, would abandon a member on their funeral sits ill with him. With all of them, to be honest – for so long, family had been all they had.

Gandalf only shakes his head. "Some may want to come, but will be too busy with their own families. If you want my advice, I believe a small farewell might be more to Bilbo's wishes."

All of them remember standing on ceremony when Kili was laid to rest. How unnatural the air had been, how artificial all grief had felt. And as much as Thorin wants to show the world how highly he treasures their burglar, he knows that an ostentatious ceremony would not have been what Bilbo wanted.

* * *

The arrangements, in the end, are unusual. Thorin chooses one of the few rooms with windows on the upper floors, thinking how Bilbo enjoyed sunlight. It's not a formal occasion, though both, Thranduil and Bard will attend together with the remaining 12 dwarves of the original company and Gandalf. Due to his station, Dain had been asked as well – though he had declined, realizing that this is a private goodbye, rather than a state occasion.

The rest, too, is a strange compromise between dwarven traditions and what Gandalf could tell them about hobbit practices. They kept the finery and jewelry to a minimum – a simple white shirt, made of silk, Bilbo's old waistcoat, masterfully mended by elves, and a soft outer coat – the one Thorin had gifted Bilbo with, dark blue and inlaid with golden patterns.

Bofur is wiping his eyes. Dwarven custom would require them to stand silently, not showing their pain. Thorin is glad he decided against it – Fili, too, is wiping his eyes, and even Dwalin's appear red-rimmed.

Gandalf speaks first. His sentences aren't long, but enough to make even Thorin's eyes burn.

The King himself promises to make certain Bilbo will not be forgotten.

Thranduil and Bard echo this promise.

After Bilbo is put to his final rest, down in the crypts, the small funeral party withdraws. To, as Gandalf told them, have a shared meal in true hobbit fashion. While Thranduil and Thorin are still uneasy at sharing a table, shared grief and shared – if tearful – laughter temporarily bridges these differences.

Maybe, Thorin thinks, should he see Bilbo again beyond, he will smile at him.

_Fin_

* * *

_Thank you very much for reading! _


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